


i could have been wild and i could have been free (but nature played this trick on me)

by reylo_garbagecan



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ben Solo Needs A Hug, Character Death, F/M, Implied Poe Dameron/Finn, Injury Recovery, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Pining, Period Typical Mortality, Poe Dameron/Ben Solo Friendship, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pride and Prejudice References, Reverse Dowry, Rey Needs A Hug, Soft Ben Solo, The Secret Garden Elements, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unreliable Narrator, but not Ben or Rey, let Ben Solo smile, not a baby fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 61,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21765100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reylo_garbagecan/pseuds/reylo_garbagecan
Summary: “Did you know that I did not even learn your name until yesterday, when I married you?”His face flushed a darker red than it had at breakfast, and he attempted to defend himself with incompetent stammering, “I—I regret that. The situation, of course, would have been,” he wrung his hands together and stared at her feet, “It would have been preferable if we had known one another more. On several occasions, I did attempt to make myself known to you, but you seemed to have other preoccupations.”Rey could feel her face contorting into a sneer to spit out her barbed words, “Perhaps that was your cue not to marry me!”Or: Ben falls in love at first insult.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 176
Kudos: 786
Collections: Delicious Pining fics





	1. The Meeting and the Wedding

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have most of this story already written, so updates should be fairly consistent to once a week. Just a bit of a warning with this first chapter, there is some mildly (mutually) dubious consent due to the arrangement of their marriage, but it is literally as vague as I could possibly make it. If you enjoy it, leave a comment, I would love to hear your input!
> 
> Edit: Also after having finished this story, I’d like to preface this with saying that Rey is very much a flawed character in this fic. It’s told from her point of view and it’s good to keep in mind that she can be biased and she can be an unreliable narrator at times. Just something to think about when reading! :)

Rey could scarcely recall the moment she met Ben Solo. The moment had been so insignificant to her at the time that, until later, she had contemplated neither the precise place in time nor the man to which the lead role went to. The hindsight, as it was, came to her at the altar, some six weeks after the event in question, with the very same man stood beside her playing the role of her betrothed. As she stood there, holding flowers which were wilting faster than anticipated in the summer heat, next to the man she would spend the rest of her life _belonging to_ , she valiantly attempted to rein in the memory. The vicar’s droll words about God and matrimony became a distant humming in her ears.

  
The truth of it was that Rey remembered the ball more than she remembered him. Of course, there was the moment his name was announced, and every mother made to pull their daughter aside to whisper insistently that she should make to dance with him paired with the crucial information of how many thousands of pounds his estate brought in every year. However, Rey had not met him yet and truthfully, she had not even bothered to look for him when the announcement was made. No, that was not the moment she had been seeking. 

  
It had been later in the evening when she had been tired out from all the dancing—the gentlemen in her town always lavished her with attention at the balls but none had ever made her an offer of marriage as her family was not the sort of family that other families wished to make connections to, but everyone was in agreement that the young and pretty Rey was the perfect partner in every other way except the most important. Rey had just gently refused a dance with her favorite dancing partner at the time, a Mr. Dameron, due to a need for refreshment and rest. Mr. Dameron had gallantly lead her to a table before rejoining in the evening’s festivities when her uncle and guardian, a garish and mortifying toad of a man, grasped her by the elbow and commanded her to come with him to be introduced to the “wealthiest fellow he’d ever met.” That was the moment. She remembered then that he had hardly glanced at her and exuded the emotion of someone who wanted to escape from their present company as swiftly as possible the whole short time of their introduction. His eyes flickered to the crowd more than once when her uncle had been speaking, and he shifted on his feet in the imitation that he was ready to run. She had not felt loss that a proud, rich man had not wished to know her, she had only felt embarrassment at her uncle’s persistent behavior and exhaustion from a night of invigorating exercise. That was the only thing about meeting her future husband that Rey could recall. 

  
There was, of course, the conversation she overheard between the man and Mr. Dameron thereafter. She had been sitting down when she eavesdropped on Mr. Dameron stating that Mr. Solo should partake in the dancing. He had quietly yet vehemently refused in a tone that was gentle yet allowed not an inch for questioning. Dameron, being the congenial man he was, had implored that there were many excellent young ladies for him to dance with, and Rey had secretly smiled when he named her as the greatest dancing partner in the county. The smile and flicker of pride in her chest was short-lived when the other man spoke up.

  
Mr. Dameron had just been heralding her, “I have spoken to her on many an occasion and know her to be kind and quick-witted. These are attributes you find appealing are they not, old friend?”

  
Rey was unable to see his face as he insulted her in the one case for which she was unable to defend herself, “If an old friend I am then you must forgive my skepticism regarding her wit. She has an exceedingly distasteful and rather vapid family.”

  
“Come now, I don’t recall you ever being such a snob, it’s only the one man. Besides, I thought you were of the belief that family had little to do with the character of a person?”

  
Rey recalled having heard quite enough of that. It was not so much that Mr. Solo had insulted her family—her uncle, she agreed, was a greedy and dim-witted beast—but rather confirmed her suspicions that no one was capable of seeing her apart from his undesirable connection. Not even Mr. Dameron, kind as his words had been in her defense, truly wished to be in connection with her repugnant uncle. The scene was a disheartening one for the young woman, but she rallied her spirits and carried on with the night’s festivities (it was unfortunate that for her own well-being, she was forced to avoid Mr. Dameron lest she felt the shame of the earlier incident). All the while, it was hard to miss Mr. Solo’s scrutinizing gaze from across the room. Embarrassment, as it is often known to do, had molded into indignation that the man would dare openly critique her with his direct and watchful stare. Looking back on the incident from her position at the altar, perhaps his stare had not been malicious at all, but nevertheless, her feelings had snapped in that same night.

  
In her efforts to ignore his wandering eyes, she had failed to think that she would have to avoid him—after all, he had been so obviously disinterested in her—but lo and behold, he had spoken her name (she was astonished he had remembered it) and waited for her acknowledgment a step or two behind her. His face had been impassive and difficult to read (a quality she strongly disliked as she really did hate to be surprised).

  
“Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Johnson?”

  
A brief moment of brilliance and perfected meanness had struck Rey that she could have hardly resisted the temptation of saying exactly what it was that she wished to say—and she did, with a sweet and innocent smile, “Mr. Solo, I am honored by your attention, but I’m afraid I must decline on the grounds that I really must save you the embarrassment of dancing with someone from such a _distasteful family_.”

  
There had been no waiting around to see his reaction, it had only been a matter of curtseying to gracefully disengage from any further conversation and removing herself from his presence entirely. Perhaps it had been rather a shame that Rey had not stayed to discover why it was that he was suddenly so keen for _her_ presence, she might have uncovered the secret that had ultimately led her to the chapel in which she stood. As Rey pored over the various instances with her not-so-suitor in the past, she still found herself at a loss. There had been numerous occasions in town when he had attempted to speak to her in passing, but she had always politely escaped from him. Despite his apparent disdain for balls, he continued attending them—perhaps at the insistence of his friend, Mr. Dameron—and his persistence in trying to find her made her nearly wish to quit them. It was for certain a mystery that he could not understand her lack of desire to speak with him. There had been one instance, Rey could recall, in which he had managed to track her. He had not been so terrible.

  
“Miss Johnson,” he had already caught her and there was nothing she could do but wait to find the opportune moment to excuse herself, “I wanted to speak with you on a certain matter.”

  
Rey gave her best imitation of a smile, “With me? Why, that is curious, but I’m afraid I have some urgent business to attend to with Mrs. Ha—”

  
“Just a moment of your time is all I ask,” he interrupted quietly but with an edge.

  
Rey had given no response, she only stayed in her place to let him know he was free to speak, “I believe we may have had something of a _difficult_ start when I arrived here three weeks ago,” _it had only been three weeks that she’d known of his existence_ , “but I feel that the fault lies with me. It is my wish to apologize for the unkind words you may have overheard the night of our introduction. It is my hope, going forward, that we could be friends.”

  
Perhaps that had been the warning Rey should have heeded when instead she had only disregarded the words for the sake of making an exit, “Of course, but you must forgive me, I do not know what you speak of. Excuse me.”

  
Men very rarely meant “friends” when they made the case to a young woman that they wished to be so, and that was a lesson that Rey had learned not three days after when she returned home from town. Mr. Solo had been exiting her home, which caused her to immediately duck behind a tree as a shield from him. Once he was gone, and she had been safe at last, she crossed the doorway that he had just stepped over minutes before to meet the smug face of her guardian.

  
“I tip my hat to you, Rey, I had no idea the squalling brat your parents gifted me with would turn out to be so useful,” Plutt had told her.

  
“What do you mean? What was Mr. Solo’s business here?” The lump that had formed in her throat made her loosen the ribbon around her neck.

  
“I offer my congratulations on your betrothal to that rich fellow, though I suppose it was I who introduced you. You must have bewitched the man; he’s offered to forgo a dowry and pay a bride price.”

  
Rey’s heart had very nearly stopped beating, her face turned grey, and her bonnet slipped from her shoulders, “I never accepted his hand in marriage. He has never asked me such a thing.”

  
“You are mistaken,” he had sneered, his toad-like features contorting in nastiness, “you have accepted him.”

  
“You have accepted him. _I_ do not want to marry him.”

  
Plutt had stepped closer to her, and she’d been forced to fall back in a retreat for fear of a repetition of a past event (though he had claimed the event in question was a mistake and would never happen again), “This is your one chance, girl, to be of any use to me. I’ve wasted food and room and thousands of pounds on you. This is your repayment, very simple.”

  
Fury had risen in her chest, but all the sound that came from her was meek pleading, “I won’t do it. I’ll run away if I must, then you’ll never have to pay for me ever again.”

  
His eyes had narrowed to slits, but a smile curled its way onto his slimy face, “Oh, you very well could, my dear, but if you marry Mr. Solo and your good-for-nothing parents come asking around here for you, I would be more than pleased to point them in his direction.”

  
After that, it had been no question for her, of course. Ever since she was a child scrounging for meals in Plutt’s smaller estate, she had dreamed of her family returning for her. Plutt had always told her how he had been generous and offered to care for her until they could make a large enough sum to support her. It was a dream so ingrained into her very existence that the thought of giving it up to marry for love seemed incomprehensible. The wedding had come so much faster than expected as Mr. Solo was eager to get back to his estate in his own county, and Plutt was equally eager to be rid of her at long last. Rey had spent the first week in mourning, leaving the dreary, country house for very little. By the second week, Rey had forced herself to rally and became determined to use the last bit of her freedom that she had for walks through town and the woods. It was her last chance to take one more look on the place she was raised in—she had little hope she would see it again in so soon a time. Her friends had taken up much of her time leading up to the wedding on the third week, congratulating her on her greatly advantageous match and wishing the new couple the best. Of all the people who paid her a visit, it was the strangest thing that her betrothed was never among them. For all the agonizing moments she had spent trying to avoid him leading up to his proposal, she had seen not a stitch from him after it.

  
Then there was the wedding. Rey startled herself from her reverie as the vicar looked at her expectantly, and she could sense an uneasiness from her very-soon-to-be husband that she had paused before repeating her wedding vow. Somehow, she had mindlessly allowed her hand to be led into Mr. Solo’s and missed the entirety of his vow. A blush fanned across her cheeks, but it was thankfully hidden beneath the gauzy veil. 

  
“I, Rey Johnson, take thee, Benjamin Solo,” _his name is Benjamin_ , was an odd thought to have, but have it she did, “to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

  
She was relieved when his hand dropped from hers as he pulled forth the ring. The vows rang through her mind, and not for the first time, she grew angry with him. _To love, cherish, and to obey_ , she had vowed to him and God, and there was not a single way that she believed she would be able to uphold her vow. Rey neither loved nor cherished Benjamin Solo, and the thought of being expected to obey the man who had bought her hand in marriage was revolting enough for her stomach to turn. 

  
His hand was then again on hers as he slid the ring ceremoniously onto her fourth finger without ever looking at her through the veil, “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  
As one unit, the nearly married couple sank to their knees before the vicar to be led in prayer. Behind the veil, her eyes were concealed, and she was allowed to look freely on the man she was marrying. His features were striking yet soft in a great contradiction, and she could almost mark him as handsome were it not for her insistent feelings of revulsion and wrath. Rey could feel the energy of the room become disinterested in the ceremony; mothers shushing their children, feet tapping just slightly, and Mr. Solo’s eyes fluttering beneath his eyelids. 

  
Once more their hands were joined, and Rey realized that the vicar had said “amen” and she was looking into open eyes, “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

  
With haste, her eyes darted down, and she tried to think of other things such as her excitement over being able to eat breakfast at the ceremony’s conclusion. As was customary, she had taken no food in the morning, which it was then unfortunate that she had skipped meals two days in advance (once because Plutt had dined without her and made no other preparations for her and the other because she was simply too nervous). Rey was rather starving.

  
“I pronounce they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  
_What a simple phrase_ , Rey mused, _that all of a sudden, she should belong to another man_. In so many words, a man could give away a woman to another man and Rey would cease to be Ms. Rey Johnson, but rather Mrs. Rey Solo. At long last, the ceremony ended, and Rey allowed for her husband to assist her in rising to her feet. Reluctantly, she rested her hand in the crook of his arm to be led to the church’s registry. It was then confirmed in writing by none other than herself that Rey no longer existed as a free woman independent of any claims.

  
They were then led to a friend’s, Mr. Dameron’s, house to break their fast and celebrate. The married couple spoke not a word to each other throughout the entire ordeal, and Rey could only muster a smile to Mr. Dameron when he congratulated her and wished her the best—he had been a favorite of hers after all, _before_. Mr. Dameron had quite a few more things to say to his friend—her husband—that very nearly caused him to smile, but Rey had watched attentively, it had not been so that he smiled throughout the whole of the meal. Almost as soon as the reception had ended, the couple quit the county and entered Mr. Solo’s (hers too, apparently) personal carriage for his estate. Mr. Dameron, upon seeing his friend off from his home, had exclaimed numerous times that they need not rush off in haste, but that he would be happy to receive the two of them, but her husband had merely politely declined. 

  
The carriage ride, which lasted well into the night and early morning, was not an experience Rey was sure she could ever be forced to endure again. Sleep eluded her under his keen stare (though he glanced away each time she turned to look at him) and though the day’s events had exhausted her, she was forced to ignore his silent stare and entertain herself with her own thoughts. Like at the reception, he did not speak to her once, but she breathed a sigh of relief that he had not for she was not sure she would have been capable of remaining civil. In the earliest hours of morning, they arrived at his rather sprawling estate with such a winding road to the main house that she was sure they had taken a detour. Upon pulling up to the front, Rey understood then that she had become very wealthy and lived not in the main house but rather in a mansion. Fires were lit to light their way and servants lined up outside to greet them. Despite feeling his gaze on her as she took in the sight, she refused to acknowledge him.

  
A slight, mousy servant woman greeted her inside the entry hall and introduced herself as her lady’s maid and that she would lead her to her room to prepare for a night of rest. As she followed the woman, she noticed her husband had disappeared from sight. Rey allowed her shoulders to ever so slightly relax as the implication that she would be sleeping alone settled over her. True to her word, the maid divested Rey of her tight and stuffy wedding dress and dressed her in a soft nightgown which she was certain had not been in the wardrobe sent up by the servants. The maid excused herself and left Rey to become acquainted with the room and promised to give her time in the morning to rest before waking her for breakfast. The exhaustion made itself known, and Rey allowed herself to finally rest in a bed so soft she was not sure she could become familiar with it. Her weary frame sank in, however, and became almost instantly familiar. 

  
She did not wake until the maid, as promised, opened the curtains and announced that she would get her ready for breakfast. After a small time, Rey was dressed in a pale green dress made of muslin as she descended the stairs of her new home. She was appreciative of the maid who stood near to her so she would not be lost on her way to the dining hall through the large home. The smells that wafted from the said room would have been enough to lead the way had her guide not been there, Rey supposed. 

  
Upon entering the dining room, Rey was astonished at the spread of food on the table. Her life with her guardian, Plutt, had not been destitute, they had a cook on staff, but the food she was given was not nearly so lavish as what she saw. Her husband, she observed, was sat at the head of the table reading some papers with a frown on his face—an expression she was beginning to become quite familiar with. Seemingly, he had not noticed her presence until one of the attendants pulled out her chair for her, and he belatedly stood to receive her at the table. He appeared to be nervous from what Rey could gather about the slight flush in his cheeks and the way his eyes darted about the room with nothing in particular catching his attention (everywhere around her, but not at her, as if intentionally looking everywhere but her so that perhaps she would not guess he _wished_ to look at her). 

  
Once they were seated, he surprised her by speaking—though he pretended to be more interested in his papers once more, “Did you sleep well?”

  
She equally feigned disinterest in his presence and spoke only the bare minimum as she retrieved several helpings of breakfast for her plate, “Yes.”

  
“Good,” from the corner of her eye, she watched him swallow harshly, but he had eaten no food, “Was your room to your satisfaction?”

  
“Yes.”

  
He did not offer to speak again but only picked at pieces of food on his plate until he was all but finished. Rey, too, had neared the end of what she wished to eat and remained astonished at the portions of food remaining on the table.

  
She surprised herself then by inquiring, “Is all of this food to go to waste?”

  
“No.”

  
Rey had somewhat expected an elaboration on his part, but it seemed that her husband had a small sense of humor, “Where does it go?”

  
He stood and made to exit the room, but he replied while he was in the process of doing so, “To the tenants of the estate.”

  
_Oh_ , she reluctantly had the thought, _that is good of him_. She saw him not for the rest of the day until it was time for dinner. Even so, they did not speak, which she was glad of. She would not have been able to bear him asking what she had busied herself with during the day, only for her to respond that she had spent it all in her room in reflection. This then brought the married couple to the night—the _night_ that perhaps had previously been taken up by a carriage ride but was free as of that moment. Her husband made no comment on it (or on anything really), which almost led her to hope he had forgotten of it. The hope was dashed, however, when her lady’s maid—a reprehensible and knowing smile on her small face—and asked if she would like a bath for her _special night_. Rey had held her shoulders up and agreed, attempting to look pleased at the daunting task that laid before her. As she cleaned herself with an assertive force that would have frightened the maid had she remained with her, anger welled up once again in her chest at the thought of her husband. Truly, she believed she hated him.

  
Skin scrubbed red and smelling of roses, she was then wrapped in a different silk nightgown and took up her wait in the chair before her vanity in the boudoir. After an hour or so, the sun had set, and she became weary of waiting. Her feet she tucked underneath herself and, refusing to move from the chair she had decided on, curled further into it. Her elbows gave rest onto one of the wooden arms and not soon after her head rested on her closed fist. Eyes drooping and bleary as the clock above her empty shelves ticked away in mockery as her husband still did not show. Each minute she became wearier and more furious that he would make her wait so late and so long. Eventually, she must have dozed off because the knock on her door startled her awake, and she looked up expectantly as the door opened—hours later—to reveal her husband of one day. 

  
Admittedly, Rey was not knowledgeable about how encounters between husbands and wives happened, but she did not expect him to be all but fully dressed. He was only devoid of his outer coat and waistcoat; his shirt was still tucked neatly into his breeches and—God’s sakes—he was still in his boots. For a moment, he stood in the doorway just staring into her tired eyes with the reflection of the candle he held flickering in his own. Her own inexperience and lack of knowledge gave her pause from censuring him, she did not know whether or not if this was normal behavior. 

  
“I am sorry if I have kept you waiting,” he spoke at last, which at least gave her a justification for some of her anger, “I had not been planning on,” he looked at his toes and fidgeted, “coming here tonight.”

  
“When were you planning on coming here then?” Her tone was nastier than intended, but it made the angry monster in her chest pleased.

  
“I wasn’t. Not really,” his eyes were truthful and seemed almost guilty in the candlelight, “I am not ignorant of the fact that our situation is _unusual_. It is my wish for you to know that I expect nothing of you that you are not prepared to give at this time or any time if it pleases you.”

  
_That won’t do_ , _he is already sorry without even a reprimand_ , a malicious part of Rey’s soul cried. The conditions of anxiety for his arrival, expectations of what would happen when he would do so, having to wait and become tired, only for all the expectations to be incorrect formulated into one black spot in her heart. It was right next to the black spot created by having to marry him in the first place. She often had no occasion for wrath, but when she did, Rey could not help but become beside herself with rage. Delicately, but with cold fury etched in her movements, she untangled herself from the vanity chair. It did not escape her notice that when she set her foot down that the gown exposed her calf, and it furthermore did not escape her notice that it did not escape his notice. _He is not quite the gentleman that he pretends to be_.

  
“Did you know that I did not even learn your name until yesterday, when I _married_ you?”

  
His face flushed a darker red than it had at breakfast, and he attempted to defend himself with incompetent stammering, “I—I regret that. The situation, of course, would have been,” he wrung his hands together and stared at her feet, “It would have been preferable if we had known one another more. On several occasions, I did attempt to make myself known to you, but you seemed to have other preoccupations.”

  
Rey could feel her face contorting into a sneer to spit out her barbed words, “Perhaps that was your cue _not_ to marry me!”

  
His expression gave her a variety of emotions. It was disheartened as her words had clearly made some impact on him, which gratified the mean spirit she was harboring within her. However, Rey had been itching to go to war for three weeks, and it seemed that the man she married simply did not have the character for war. She was disappointed in his lack of reaction.

  
“I—forgive me,” he all but whispered and stepped back over her threshold into the hallway, “I will leave you be.”

  
The fury in her roared to life and she took two steps forward to his one behind, “It’s much too late for changing minds. If this _situation_ , as you like to refer to it, becomes annulled, my uncle will never have me back.”

  
He continued to flush and stutter and look everywhere except for her eyes (which was all the more infuriating), “If you truly do not desire an annulment, I would not dream of doing so against your will. There is no need for you to do anything you do not wish to.”

  
At some point, she had come to stand closer to him, they were almost stood together in the hall, and she whispered hotly, “ _Then I wish to_. You wished to have me for a wife, and so you shall, but not without giving me the security that you cannot retreat from it at my expense.”

  
It was with certain reluctance that he had agreed. Neither spoke throughout the ordeal, and they only looked at each other for the necessary reasons. One candle was left on in the room, which helped cast shadows on anything she had not reconciled with herself to see yet. The pain was not so bad as she had expected it to be, but she could not stop herself from wincing, and he seemingly could not stop himself from whispering a strained and silent apology. The experience was not pleasant, but she came to understand how under different circumstances it might have been. Perhaps if she had liked him at all, it would have been better. Nonetheless, she appreciated his concentrated effort to end the event as fast as he could without being rough. 

  
Upon the ending of the scene, he withdrew from her bed. She closed her eyes and rolled to her side in hopes that he would leave without attempting to speak to her. Weary though she was, her ears were still alert to every movement he made within her room for any sign that he was leaving. His clothes sliding back on, his footsteps to retrieve them from wherever he had left them, and then there was silence. She had not heard him leave and therefore imagined him standing with a stupid expression on his face in the middle of the room. It was with great bewilderment to her then that his fingers lightly pulled a blanket over her still form, and his lips touched her temple only barely. So much was her confusion that she did not hear him leave the room and close the door to the antechamber. Perhaps she could have lied there for hours in shock, but the hour had been late to begin with, and the night’s many tribulations were exhausting and overpowering to her sensibilities.


	2. The Organa Estate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first month Rey spends as a wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the last chapter's notes I said I would post once a week buuuuut, the positive comments and feedback were enough to motivate me, so a big thanks for the kudos and comments!! This one is not quite so long as the last, but it has a bit more dialogue. Hope this next chapter is enjoyable :))

Despite waking underneath a spare blanket atop her quilts and fine sheets, Rey could not recall having awoken as well-rested in the whole of her life before. Her maid was stood by the window after having to have pulled open the curtains to allow the light in. The light pouring in was a brighter light than she was used to waking to, and she would have sat up in a panic had she not realized that she remained naked from the previous night. 

  
“What time is it?”

  
The maid turned and smiled with the sun beaming behind her, causing the flyaway strands of hair to glow around her face, “Nearly ten o’clock. Breakfast has been waiting on you since eight, but the master disallowed me from waking you. He only sent me up just now because he was afraid you might go hungry.”

  
As if on cue, another lady servant rolled in a cart with food beneath a cover on it, and Rey smiled at her, “Thank you very much. I apologize for not waking for the original meal.”

  
The other maid did not smile in return and only backed from the room as swiftly as was respectful for her, her lady’s maid shook her head, “Don’t mind her, miss. She’s not used to compliments from the great ladies.”

  
“That’s alright. I fear I’m not much of a _great lady_ , though. What’s your name? I feel it’s rude that I don’t know by now.”

  
“Nettie, miss.”

  
“That’s lovely,” Rey smiled at her.

  
“Thank you, miss. Now, I’ll let you get on with your breakfast in some peace.”

  
Nettie set a tray on the bed with the food on it, “Ring if you require any further assistance.”

  
She made to leave but Rey had one more question for her, “Where is, ah, Mr. Solo now?”

  
“Estate business, ma’am.”

  
“Is he out of town?”

  
“No, ma’am. He makes his rounds during the day to the tenants and helps with some of the farming if they’ll have him. Brings them extra food from the house and listens to their complaints and such. Estate business.”

  
“Oh,” the news of how he spent his days was quite different from how she would have expected the haughty and impersonal man she made him out to be, “When will he return?”

  
“For tea, most likely. Then he shuts himself in the office and reads up on his financial matters.”

  
“What exactly is it that I do until then?”

  
Nettie bore a confused expression, “Why, you run the household, miss. Whatever you like, really. Picking the dinner menus, hosting guests, trips to the village and the like. I can give you a tour of the house if that would help?”

  
Rey flushed and felt a bit as if she were being talked down to, “Oh, no that’s quite alright. I enjoy a bit of independent exploring. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  
Nettie nodded and made her exit. Alone in her room, Rey quickly threw off the blanket placed on her the night before and made haste to put on at least one scrap of clothing—she was not used to being exposed, to maids or even herself. The nightgown from the previous night was meticulously folded on her vanity chair, but she could not recall placing it there so neatly. Her breakfast was finished quickly and efficiently without much thought for the taste of the food but rather to finish before Nettie returned to dress her for the day. Rey would not dream of turning the maid out of a position, but she had never found much use in other people dressing her before and felt rather uncomfortable at the thought of someone else seeing her vulnerable again (particularly so soon after the night before). 

  
It was with attention to stealth that she slinked from her room, fully dressed to explore the grand house she called her own. The morning passed with her quiet tread around the house, careful to avoid the servants as she did not want to be seen at that precise time as the _lady of the house_. She discovered she had a favorite spot, which were the gardens just outside of her window—she had taken no notice of them before as her room was so high above the ground. The gardens, surprisingly for so great a house, were not much to see in beauty or abundance of life. Rey marked the cause to be that it fell lower on the list of priorities in a busy bachelor’s estate, but she supposed that bachelor’s estate it was no more, and she had always longed for a garden.

  
After walking barefoot through the garden for a time, she placed her shoes back on and took to exploring the closed doors in the upstairs. So many studies and spare rooms and children’s rooms with no children occupied the floor that it made Rey’s head spin with how someone could possibly have need for so many rooms. One particular study caught her attention. It had less light through the window and darker wood furnishings that created somewhat of a macabre air in the small space. It was one of the only rooms that looked as if it were put to honest use, with dried up ink wells and a full one sitting atop the dark desk. She presumed it must have been the office her husband took to settling estate matters in, and she resolved to leave before he may return. Too late, of course, did she make that resolution.

  
The door creaked open and a tall shadow loomed over the already darker room, and Rey spun to see her husband in the doorway. His dark hair was left untamed in messy waves around his face, and he wore much the same attire he had worn the night before with no coats and only his shirt tucked into the breeches. His boots were scuffed with mud and his hands, she noticed, were dusted with dirt as they held several pieces of parchment. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment at being caught, and in some manner, his face seemed to reflect hers.

  
“I was exploring the house.”

  
He nodded, stiff and jilting, though not without a lack of trying to be amiable, “It is perfectly reasonable. It is your home now. You have a right to every door within it.”

  
“Thank you,” belatedly, she remembered that she despised him, and they stood in a horrible silence for several moments doing naught but staring at one another’s shoes.

  
“Will you be joining me for tea?”

  
“I suppose so,” Rey did not feel there was much room around it, after all, she did not want the servants to gossip about her, “I’ll—I’ll just leave you,” she eyed the smudge of dirt beneath his eye where he must have swiped with his hand unwittingly, “I’ll leave you to ready yourself.”

  
His lips pressed together in what appeared to be a nervous tic of his, and he gave a stunted nod. Just slightly, he moved aside for her to glide past him from the room. Once free of the dark space, her steps were lighter and swifter to escape his presence to the drawing room where, within the hour, she would be forced to endure it once again. Half an hour passed before the servants brought in the tea and sandwiches. Rey was not sure whether or not she was expected to wait for her husband to appear before starting, but the anticipation attacked her nerves, and she decided a cup of tea would do no harm. Just as she brought the cup to her lips, he entered with his footsteps preceding him. A moment passed where they simply looked at one another, and Rey almost wondered if he was asking for her permission for something. At length, she nodded at the table and paid more mind to her tea, which seemingly made him free to take his fill. Once satisfied, he sat on the sofa across from her, and unlike their previous experiences, he did not hide that he was looking at her.

  
The way he openly gazed at her made her think that perhaps she had missed something important. Was she expected to make the conversation? What sort of conversation could he possibly expect her to be able to maintain with him? The night before certainly ought to have reminded him exactly what sort of place he held in her heart (which was none at all). There were very few kind phrases Rey felt capable of exchanging with her newfound husband.

  
At just the moment where Rey was becoming agitated by his staring and presumed expectations, he spoke, “How did you find the house in your exploring?”

  
Her voice was quiet, unused to making small talk with someone who was supposed to be significant to her, “I find the garden intriguing. I wondered if I might be able to find some useful employment in it.”

  
His brows drew upward a bit, and she almost thought he might smile—which would have incensed her for a reason she could not understand in herself, “I confess that I forgot we even had a garden, but all the same, it is your garden now. You do not need my permission.”

  
It wasn’t quite in her to thank him in the moment, so she merely nodded and sipped her tea, the conversation falling flat once again to tense and loud silence. The estate was the neutral topic he had chosen to try and discuss with her, so she considered her own questions she had about her new surroundings.

  
Even to her own ears, her voice tentatively cutting the silence was sharp and resonating, “I was curious. The home is referred to as the Organa estate, but your—or I suppose our, now—surname differs. What is the meaning behind it?”

  
“Ah,” his eyes fell from hers at last with an air of guardedness, “Yes, well, that would be a question of my complex family history. In short, my mother’s maiden name is Organa, and it is her family from which the estate is passed.”

  
“And in long?”

  
He lifted the cup of tea to his lips and seemed distant as he stared at the rug, “Perhaps that is for another time.”

  
The discussion of the estate thoroughly snuffed; uneasiness roiled in Rey’s stomach as she tried to think of some other bland topic to discuss until she mentally chided herself that she did not owe him a good conversation with a falsely happy wife. Though he did not realize it until the night before, she reminded herself, this was what he had bought.

  
To her horror, he seemed to guess the content of her thoughts and set his cup onto the saucer, an air of decisiveness to the resolute clink of porcelain, “I understand now that this is not the home you chose of your own free will,” tardily he turned to check that no servants were present with them for what he was going to tell her, “It may not count for much at all, but I regret I had not understood it sooner, and I hope that one day you can forgive me for my lapse in judgement in securing your hand through your uncle and not through yourself directly.”

  
Rey was frozen to her seat with a chill in her bones that kept even the hand holding her cup previously en route to her lips suspended in midair. His eyes held a keenness to them as they fixed themselves to hers. From across from her, she could feel the weight of his intent to make her understand _something_. For the life of her, she could not grasp what he wanted her to feel, but she admitted to herself that she just might have been ignorant on purpose. If he wanted forgiveness, there was much to be done and more importantly distance needed between the underhanded proposal and the wretched wedding. The details of his skin in the candlelight needed to be smudged with time and forgetfulness. Until she no longer felt bitter and spiteful, she saw no point in giving him hope, and so she remained silent.

  
“Though this is not the home you chose, it is my greatest wish that you will make it your own as much as it is mine. Perhaps you won’t believe me—and your skepticism is understandable—but I do wish that you will come to feel safe here, and later on, happy even.”

  
A strange feeling, fleeting in nature but with brief, overwhelming strength washed over her at the sight of his wide and earnest eyes. His lips were pressing together once again, and Rey suspected that on anyone else the habit could be construed to be an angry, uptight frown, but the way it was projected on him made him only appear vulnerable. There was something powerful about his near pleading countenance, and Rey considered that if she were to spend the rest of her life with him that it need not be entirely wasted in hatred. Forgiveness and forgetfulness were far from her view, but it was not wholly invisible.

  
“I will try.”

  
“Thank you.”

  
Rey could feel that with the end of his speech came the end of tea, and she allowed herself to take her leave of him in favor of sitting in her room until dinner. Even then, dinner was a quiet affair, save one instance at the very end. 

  
As she’d declined to sit with him in the drawing room and begun ascending the stairs for bed, he murmured, “Goodnight, Rey.”

  
It had been the first time she could recall him using her first name, and she paused briefly on a step to inquire out of the range of the servants, “What do I call you?”

  
He blinked, “My family calls me Ben.”

  
“Goodnight, Ben.”

  
He had given her a small smile, which hardly counted for a smile but after living with him for two days, she understood it was a rare moment. Her days from then on passed very similarly, with the exception that there were no more declarations or apologies at tea and only respectful nods and Ben asking about her day. The routine they fell into was very nearly harmonious. Nettie would wake her for breakfast, and Ben would ask her what she planned to do for the day. She would respond the same each time that she intended to work in the garden, and they would eat in a mutual silence. Until tea, Rey would toil in the garden and Ben would make his rounds to the tenants and partake in some of the farming. They would rid themselves of their Earth-stained hands and clothes—separately—and sip tea in relative silence. Ben would inquire about her day, and she would briefly recount the work she did in the garden, and they would fall back into their habitual silence. After a silent dinner, she would depart for bed and they would wish each other a good night. Perhaps it was repetitive and lacked the romance of the novels Rey once took interest in reading, but it was comfortable. For a time, Rey believed she may yet live through her life in the estate.

  
One oddity made itself a part of the near pristine pattern in the night, however. That third night, not affected by a late carriage ride or marital duties, she had slept lighter. Therefore, when footsteps—not intending to be loud—shuffled past her room, she sat upright. The servants, she knew, were all at their homes in town or asleep in their quarters, which left one other unaccounted for person to be roaming the halls. At first, she had stood and waited by the door to the antechamber in fear that he would go back on his promise from the previous night. She feared that after having her once—though, in her mind, she had known it had brought little more satisfaction to him as it had to her—he had acquired a taste for more. The footsteps had retreated and continued to sound muffled as they faded down the hall. Around the same time each night, she discovered, he roamed the halls, and her curiosity had enough control over her to not let her sleep through it. However, her fear of disrupting the delicate system they had created together kept her from following him or inquiring about the matter. So, for a month, she listened to him rambling the halls without knowing the answer.

  
Regrettably, Chaucer had not been incorrect upon stating that all good things must end, and her good routine came to an abrupt and screeching halt. The routine had already been dampened when her maid had let her sleep in upon finding that her lady had not expressly awoken at the opening of the curtains. An hour had passed before Rey woke late and alone and feeling off. She dressed herself and settled the ill-feeling in her stomach to the thought of her daily schedule being set back by an hour. The thought occurred too that she had perhaps worried him by not attending breakfast, and she half-hoped that he would have already left for the day when she arrived so she would not have to answer one more question than she normally had to.

  
As chance would have it, of course, he was still present and finishing up his plate when she swiftly entered, looking flustered. He stood to receive her as usual—if still an hour off—and opened his mouth to greet her or ask her if she was alright when something peculiar happened. The smell of the food, so usually delightful, hit her nose and her stomach turned instantly sour. Rey would never know what her husband was about to say to her that morning, because she was forced to immediately flee from the room. Faster than she had ever previously accredited herself for, she bounded up the stairs and back to her room where she emptied the contents of her stomach into a (blessedly) fresh chamber pot. 

  
A knock sounded on the antechamber door, and she quickly wiped her mouth with a handkerchief, smoothed her skirts, and moved to other room to open the door. It had already been left ajar in her haste, but Ben had respectfully waited for her to allow him entry. He peered around the room first then at her likely blanched face.

  
“Should I send for the doctor?” His darkened brow was knotted with concern, and she appreciated him in just that brief moment.

  
“I,” she inhaled deeply and nodded, “I think that would be best, yes.”

  
“Would you like someone to wait with you?”

She shook her head, her pride simply did not allow for another to see her kneeling and vulnerable, which he seemed to understand, “I will ride to town myself then.”

* * *

It seemed that he made good time when he had a cause, and only an hour (and two more sickly incidents) had passed before the doctor entered her room. He had asked her questions she had not thought to ask herself. When the doctor left her room, she was declared to be with child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, they may be the luckiest couple on first try--or not.


	3. The Great Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rey tries to adjust to the idea of being a mother, and Ben invites over a guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For now with the chapters I've already written I've just given up all pretense of updating on schedule haha. Besides, the new movie's coming out in FIVE DAYS (cannot believe it) so what the hell right? Hope you all enjoy!

From the moment the doctor informed her of her new condition, Rey found that she simply could not exist for a certain time. She could not exist in the great house, she could not exist as a wife or an employer to the house staff, and she certainly could not exist as a mother. The door to the antechamber she locked, so she would not be disturbed as she mourned the loss of her youth and childhood, gone forever. For two days and two nights she stayed locked inside with the occasional worried knock from Nettie asking her if she wished to leave to eat. Practically, Rey knew she needed to eat something soon because she was no longer eating for just herself, but the thought of smelling or looking at food or looking at him next to her at the table was unbearable. Twice she received a visit from the him in question, asking simply if she required anything. He even offered to have food brought to the room, so she did not have to leave if that was what she wished, but she gave no reply.

  
On the third day around dinner, he returned again, “Rey, I’ve brought up a plate for you if you’ll have it.”

  
She did not respond from her seat at the window, and she thought after a time that she heard his footsteps retreating, but he startled her by knocking and speaking once more, “I understand you wish to be left alone, but I wanted to ask you about a certain matter. Would you let me in, just for a moment? Then I will leave you in peace.”

  
Making haste, she wiped her face of dried tears and tied a robe around the slip she had spent the previous two days residing in, and she opened the door. The first thing she noticed was the plate of food he had not lied about bringing for her lying on his flat palm, and she admitted to herself that she may have been hungry. His face seemed to fall slightly when she made eye contact with him, and though she was not intimately familiar with the features of his face like most wives should be of their husbands, there was something unusually strained about them. The lines in his brow seemed deeper and below his eyes were the beginnings of darkened circles. 

  
Softly, almost a whisper, he asked again, “May I come in?”

  
Rey nodded and went to sit at her window seat again. It was important that to be able to hear him speak that she had something besides his face to look at. The garden so far below did nicely, even if it mocked her in some way because she would not be able to care for it as she would like to in the coming months. It was a gentler reminder of the changes that would come in her life than that of his face. His face reminded her sharply that half the life inside of her came from him, and perhaps her child would look very much alike to him or even not at all. The questions of if the child would have raven hair or a sharp nose or big ears were all questions that she was not yet ready to ask herself, so she looked out the window.

  
“This is my fault,” he began gravely, and she snapped her gaze to his, thoroughly surprised by his tone. Weren’t men supposed to be glad to carry on their line?

  
“If I had not,” he trails off and heaves a great sigh that shakes his shoulders before continuing, “Well, if I had not done many things, you would be happier.”

  
He was right, of course, she understood and agreed. If he had not insulted her then perhaps they could have been friends once. If he had not proposed to her through her greedy uncle—well, perhaps she would not have accepted him, but she certainly would not have despised him. Then they would not have been married, or maybe after a time in which he allowed her to _want_ to get to know him, they may have, and they could have been happy newlyweds. They could have had a good wedding night, and this would have been a happy event in their lives, starting a family together. Still, for all his faults and knowing they were his own, she felt sad for him—for both of them and what could have been.

  
“All that I have done, though not of my intention, has harmed you in some form, which is why I know that I cannot be the one to help you through this time. I wrote to my mother in the hopes that she could stay with us and be a friend for you. If this is not something you wish, then you need only say the word.”

  
Almost instantaneously Rey’s eyes welled with tears. Her emotions toward him might have been fraught with turmoil, but the kind gesture was still a kind gesture, and one she was not accustomed to. 

  
“I never had a mother,” she blushed as she realized that she had wondered the thought into actual speech, but he did not seem to mind.

  
“She can be yours,” his voice was so soft once again that she barely registered it as speech, and unprompted, he set the plate on her vanity and left the room and closed the door as soft as he had spoken.

  
In his absence, she ate the food he had brought for her, which seemed to settle something in her. She had the ability to exist once again. Each bite of food soothed some of her anxieties. There was no point in wasting away over lost youth, it would not return to her and resistance to the fact was futile. There would be time for her to accept her role as a mother, and his mother—a potential friend in the big house—could help her along and give her much needed advice. Rey even smiled as she took a bite of bread and thought that in time, the child could also be a friend for her and perhaps the many rooms and empty hallways would not be so barren with new life filling them. The next day, she returned to the regular routine, though he did not ask what she planned to do for the day at breakfast, and he did not ask her what she did in the garden at tea, but he did wish her a good night after dinner. A fortnight from then, a letter greeted Ben at breakfast, and he told her, somewhat astonished, that his mother had made it to the county and would arrive later in the day.

  
Around noon, the lady arrived, and Rey was a bundle of nerves as she stood next to her husband, lined by the rows of servants to formally greet her. A fortnight had given her much time to prepare what she might expect to see of a wealthy estate woman. Rey was afraid that perhaps she would not like her because she did not grow up rich and would be unable to relate to her in order to be friendly. Moreover, she might even hate Rey for being a miserable wife for her only son. The carriage door opened, and out stepped the woman in question. Her back was straight and formal, and Rey’s heart dropped a bit, fearing the worst, that her mother in law was as haughty as Rey once thought her son was. 

  
The older woman, in a fine dress with an antique broach at her throat, approached the couple. Rey did not miss the stiff nod exchanged between mother and son and the lack of saying anything in greeting. However, there was not time to reflect on the puzzle when she was being pulled into an embrace from the woman. 

  
“Oh,” Rey exclaimed, not expecting such an informal first meeting, but not discouraged by it in any means.

  
Swiftly, her mother in law turned her towards the house and led her back inside by the arm as if they were old friends, “There really is no need for a formal welcome, let’s chat in the drawing room.”

  
There was no air of question in her statement and Rey could easily see that his mother was an outspoken sort of person, but not the sort that made her feel as if she were second-rate to them. They entered the drawing room and sat together on the sofa. Two things belatedly took Rey’s notice: Ben had disappeared, and his mother had deftly navigated the halls without question of where the room she sought would be. 

  
“This is your house,” Rey unceremoniously expressed her realization aloud.

  
Gracefully, she laughed, “No, not really. My brother gave it up for a life of being a clergyman, and I gave it up to my son as fast as I possibly could. I hate to be away from London for too long.”

  
Prior to her conversation, Rey had not even known that her husband had an uncle, and she knew very little about the family she’d married into, “Forgive my ignorance, what about your husband?”

  
Once more her mother in law laughed, but it was quieter and sadder somehow, “He hates to be away from the sea.”

  
“Is he a sailor?”

  
“Something like that,” she shook her head as if to rid herself of the thought, “What about your family? I know next to nothing about you, save your name. Is it alright to call you Rey?”

  
“Oh, yes ma’am,” Rey laughed nervously and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, “There isn’t much to know about me. I was raised in a smaller house by a guardian.”

  
She smiled, “Call me Leia, dear. I myself was an adopted child. What hobbies do you enjoy?”

  
Rey couldn’t help from being a bit meek, she was not used to talking about herself so much, “I enjoy the gardens here. Walking in them as well. The occasional book.”

  
“No embroidery?”

  
She blushed, “I’m unskilled in most forms of needlework.”

  
“How refreshing,” Rey was relieved to see that Leia really meant it, “I have spent the past two months with a group of women who exclusively embroider, and I find it the most dreadful task. I enjoy knitting on occasion, but every day is far too much. Movement is a necessity, particularly in old age, you would do well to remember that. I thought I’d go mad. How did you meet my son?”

  
The last question was so oddly strewn in at the end of her statement that Rey almost forgot to respond, “A ball.”

  
Leia laid a hand over hers in mock sympathy, “I cannot imagine how dreadful he must have been. He absolutely hates balls.”

  
Unexpectedly, Rey began to chuckle at the memory of his constipated frown and general grumpiness, “Yes, he was quite terrible.”

  
Silence momentarily landed between them, but it was not uncomfortable. It gave Rey the capacity to remember that the son in question was her husband and she had only just met his mother.  
“Why weren’t you at the wedding?”

  
The question might have been rude, Rey wasn’t sure, but Leia soothed her concerns with a small smile. Her new friend seemed sad almost, and Rey wished that she could guess what the reasoning was.

  
“I was not invited,” she replied simply.

  
Without thought of tact or sensitivity, Rey queried, “Are you not close with him? I was surprised you had arrived so soon after his letter, and I had just assumed.”

  
The sad smile remained and, “I’m here now,” was the only reply she received, ambiguous though it was. 

  
Dinner was less tense of an affair. Leia continued to ply Rey with questions about herself, and Ben—to his credit—remained silent. It was difficult to notice that Leia never directed any questions towards her son, and her son never to her. However, it was nice to have actual discussions over dinner for once, so Rey could not complain. A late letter arrived for Ben, however, which halted the conversation until he finished reading it. His brows had drawn together as they often seemed to when he was distressed, and he worried at his lip. Upon finishing, he fixed his gaze instantly on her, and she was concerned for a moment that the letter had something to do with her.

  
“What is it?”

  
“Would you mind extra company?”

  
“I suppose not,” Rey was thoroughly confused.

  
“Poe Dameron has more or less invited himself to visit. I can send him away if you’d like, but it seems he is on his way from a county over and is stopping here for several nights.”

  
Rey smiled and could not see reason for the concern on his expression, “I don’t mind at all. Mr. Dameron and I were always friendly. He could bring some news about my former county.”

  
The worry on his face evaporated slowly at her assurance, and he nodded, “Good, then.”

  
For the first time that Rey could recall since her arrival, Leia spoke to her son, “Is that Shara’s son, Poe Dameron?”

  
Ben, it seemed, was as shocked as Rey was that his mother had spoken to him and took half a moment too long to respond curtly, “Yes.”

  
Leia looked at her plate and moved her fork without really capturing anything on it as she spoke, “I’m glad you remained friends. He always was a good boy when you two were younger.”

  
A brief moment passed where his cheeks reddened inexplicably, and his eyes flickered between his hands on the table and to Rey. He then nodded before abruptly standing and excusing himself, mumbling something about replying to the letter. Rey knew better though; she knew what it looked like to run away from a conversation—she’d gotten very adept at it when he was trying to ‘court’ her.

  
Later that night, she found trouble sleeping. A vicious storm had rolled through the county, and Rey laid in her bed knowing what all sort of damage it was doing. The wind beat at the window and screamed, the rain sounded like rocks hitting the roof, and the thunder sounded like the crack of a whip only deafening and shook the walls of the home. All this, Rey could normally sleep through. Storms, particularly nasty ones, had always been thrilling to her, and the overly loud rain was soothing in an odd, contradictory way. What kept her awake, however, was her husband’s walks around the halls. At first, she heard the footsteps outside of her door and thought it was the usual time of night. Then he returned again and again, and she realized he had not ever gone to sleep. _He must be uneasy in storms_ , she resolved. After the sixth or seventh round of hearing him walk, she slipped on a robe and went to the kitchens—careful to avoid his path (though she did not see or hear him on her way). Her favorite remedy to anxiety had always been a steaming cup of tea with several drops of honey. 

  
No sooner had she returned and placed the hot cup just outside her door did she hear his footsteps once again. She listened intently, and her heart skipped a beat when she heard him stop outside her door. Faintly, she could hear the clink of the cup on the saucer, and she smiled just a bit to herself. It wasn’t much, just a peace offering, and she rather hoped she would be able to sleep after it. As if she had dreamed the incident, she fell asleep and went to breakfast the next day and there was nothing different about her interaction with him. He did not look at her in any particular way, and he did not speak to her until the end of the meal.

  
“Two of the tenant families suffered flood damage in the storm last night. I most likely will be out later with them, and will miss tea,” his eyes flickered to hers from the letters he was reading but only briefly.

  
“Would you like lunch to be brought to you?” It had been Leia who spoke, and Rey almost wondered if she had just needed to get back into the habit of speaking to her son, she was becoming rather casual about it.

  
“That would be fine,” his voice was quiet, and Rey hoped that soon he could also become used to speaking to his mother.

  
Around lunch, Leia was organizing a basket to be sent over, and Rey smiled as she added extra portions for the families affected as well. Leia then handed her the basket, to Rey’s surprise, and told her it would do her good to get outside and get fresh air. Reluctantly, she agreed, but upon riding in the phaeton, she conceded that Leia had been right. Though the storm had certainly brought damage to the land, puddles and felled trees, it had also swept in a sunny day, and if not swamped, the grass was a brilliant green on the rolling hills. She had not been outside of the house before, and she deemed it a great shame. It was easy to fall in love with the land she had inherited through her marriage, and she wished it were as easy with people.

  
The driver seemed to know where her husband was, so she was able to look freely and not worry over trying to spot him on the way. However, one tenant caught her eye and she asked the driver to halt. He was on his roof attempting to push off a tree which had collapsed on top of it, and as far as she could see, he was alone in his great efforts. The driver gave her a nervous look, one that she surmised had to do with the color of the tenant’s skin, but Rey had always considered herself more progressive than most and did not pay mind to his stare.

  
“Hello there! Are you and your family alright?”

  
He glanced down at her from his crouch on the roof, and narrowed his eyes ever so slightly, “I have no family, but I’m just fine. Thank you, ma’am.”

  
She stood on the step of the phaeton, and she thought the driver’s eyes might have popped out, “That seems awful hard to fix on your own. My husband is making his rounds for the people who need help after the storm. I’m sure he would come assist you.”

  
He seemed to shake his head to himself, “Your husband, Lady Solo, has already offered, but as I told him, I’m doing just fine on my own.”

  
She inexplicably flushed at the notion that he knew who she was and who she was married to, “At least accept some bread from this basket. I’m sure you’ve been hard at work all morning and should have something to eat.”

  
His reluctance was palpable from her place on the ground, but she suspected he did not wish to be rude and nodded. Using a nearby ladder, he climbed from the roof and she broke a loaf for him. The man wasn’t much taller than her, but broad and strong presumably from a life of hard labor. 

  
“What’s your name?”

  
“Finn Freedman, ma’am.”

  
“I’m Rey,” she smiled, “It was good to meet you, Finn.”

  
Upon leaving—to the relief of the driver—he waved and pointedly said, “Enjoy your day, _Lady Solo_.”

  
The interaction with the tenant stuck in her mind as the phaeton halted at another tenant’s farm. She could see Ben hammering at a fence, which had fallen. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his feet were sunken in mud, and he had several nails held between his teeth to keep his hands free. Hard work was not a bad look, Rey decided, and jumped from the phaeton. Ever so slightly, his eyes turned from his work to the new arrival, and she suspected that he must have suspected a servant to deliver the food. His eyes widened a fraction and his brows raised. Quickly, he spat the nails from his mouth to his hand, pocketed them, and stood, hammer in hand.

  
He met her halfway and tucked the hammer under his arm to take the basket from her outstretched arms. Briefly, they stood before each other in perplexing silence with him looking intently down at her and her daring to stare back at him.

  
Finally, “There’s extra for the family in there as well.”

  
“Thank you,” he said quietly, but nonetheless sincerely.

  
The man from before sprung to her mind, “On the way here I passed a tenant with a tree on his roof. I asked if he needed any assistance, but he insisted he did not. Is he usually so self-sufficient?”

  
A moment passed, then another, and then he _laughed_. It was short and breathy, almost like a snort, but he had smiled and laughed all the same. Rey was all astonishment.

  
“Ah, yes, Mr. Freedman. He is less so the most self-sufficient man I’ve ever met and more so the most stubborn. He never accepts help from anyone, even his neighbors.”

  
“Why is that?” _This had to have been the longest conversation she’d ever had with him that wasn’t about her despising of him_ , an errant thought whispered.

  
Ben tucked the basket into the crook of his arm as he chose his words carefully, “I think it has to do with being a freed man. He is proud of what he has managed to earn for himself, rightly so, but still he rents out the land to me, which is not so different from slavery in his eyes. He wants my involvement in his earnings to be as small as possible.”

  
Rey nodded pensively, “I suppose that makes sense. He accepted some bread from me though, which I expect is an improvement.”

  
A small smile ghosted his lips, “Perhaps he’s fonder of you than me then. I cannot imagine why.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure why but when I started writing Finn's dialogue, I wrote it with a Southern drawl in mind and it sort of just stuck. Not exactly Regency England appropriate, but I can't bring myself to change it. 
> 
> Also: Rey is horny on main for Ben Solo to smile and honestly? Me too


	4. The Visitor and the Freedman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Dameron comes to call, Mr. Solo takes a fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new movie coming out in less than three (3) days is really getting to my anxiety so here's another chapter!! :)))

“Good morning, ma’am!”

  
Rey awoke to Nettie’s cheerful tittering and frowned. For something of a week, Nettie had begun making it her personal mission to remind Rey about the baby and force her to feel happy about it. She could not understand why, but she had begun to resent Nettie for it amongst other remarks, though she’d never say anything of it.

  
“You ought to hurry on to breakfast. A hearty one at that, make your little boy grow strong!”

  
Her frown deepened, but she got dressed for the day all the same. Nettie had been incessantly referring to her unborn child as a boy, and it had begun to make Rey nervous. Of course, Rey knew it would be best to have a boy to carry on the estate and her husband’s last name, but the pressure she had never before felt from her own husband about having a boy suddenly felt quite real. 

  
The week had passed with Ben being out of the house most of the time working with the tenants’ storm damages. Rey became in the habit of bringing him his lunch and stopping to share some of it with Finn, but that day in particular was a rainy one and Ben had asked her to stay inside. Somewhat reluctantly she had complied which left her and Leia at afternoon tea in the drawing room, listening to the soft raindrops on the windowsill and the clicking of Leia’s knitting needles. 

  
“What are you making?”

  
“A hat for my future grandchild,” she replied with a smile.

  
Rey smiled in return at the sweet gesture, “Why is it yellow then? I would have expected it to be blue or pink,” she thought of Nettie’s irritating comments, frowned, and repeated, “Or blue.”  
Leia tutted, “Nobody knows what the baby will be but God. Trying to guess is a ridiculous matter.”

  
She picked at a loose piece of thread on her skirt, “The servants keep saying it will be a boy.”

  
Leia shook her head, never taking her eyes off the needles, “Yellow is a happy color. Whatever the baby is, I want it to be happy.”

  
Her heart warmed at the thought, and Rey, for a moment, felt real joy at the prospect of having a child. She even thought that maybe she might even have been looking forward to its arrival. Only maybe.

  
Mr. Dameron arrived the following day, and in perfect time for the small family to receive him for dinner. If Rey had thought a week before that Leia had brightened up her dinner affairs, she could only admire at how much change Poe brought. He began by regaling her with stories from the county balls and stories about her old neighbors, and to her delight, she found herself laughing for the first time since she moved to the estate. Poe was animated and seemed only spurred on by her reactions to the stories, almost driving forward with humor as if it were his sole quest in life, even causing Leia to smile at him. Ben, as usual, remained silent and observed for the most part, but Poe saw fit to bring him into speaking as well.

  
“Tell me, old friend, what have you been up to in recent events?”

  
Ben blew out a breath and spoke evenly, not quite matching the festive mood that Poe had set, but Rey was glad he was speaking at all, “We had the storm that damaged quite a few homes of my tenants, so I’ve been spending most of my time helping with the repairs so they can focus on the farming.”

  
Poe smiled roguishly, “That’s very good of you. What say I come and help out tomorrow, pay my dues?”

  
Ben nodded, “That would be fine, thank you.”

  
The following day the two men did as discussed, and Rey, glad for the fresh air, brought them both lunches. She had assumed to go to one of the farms Ben had previously been assisting with, but she had to tell the driver to stop because she observed Ben on Finn Freedman’s roof, hammering away at loose shingles with Poe on the ground chopping up the tree that had damaged the roof in the first place. Astonished, she hopped from the phaeton and called out to them. Finn was in his field, moving a plow with his horse pulling it. The three of them paused their respective work. Poe gave her a friendly wave and smile, while Ben and Finn disengaged from what they had been doing.

  
With the basket on one hip, she propped her hand on the other, “How did you ever convince Finn here to accept some help from you? I’m shocked and amazed.”

  
Finn scratched the back of his neck, “It seems that Mr. Dameron can be quite persuasive.”

  
Rey beamed up at Poe, “Well then I am glad for it.”

  
She handed Ben the basket before heading off, “There should be enough for the three of you.”

  
The days then began to pass with the two men exclusively helping out Finn. Finn claimed that they were only there to help him with his roof so he could catch up on his farming, and then he would have no use for them, but she almost began to notice a harmony between the three of them. More so between Poe and Finn, the former of which would tease and joke with the latter until he cracked a smile or shot back a retort of his own. Ben, unsurprisingly, focused on his work from what she could tell, but sometimes she could catch him smiling to himself when one of Poe’s jokes were particularly excellent. It became her favorite part of the day. The fresh air, Poe’s antics, bringing an extra serving for Finn, and—the part she decidedly did not pay attention to—Ben gleaming beneath the sun with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. She never stayed for very long, but it might have been the brief scarcity of the moments that made them so wonderful.  
Once again, Rey rolled up on the road and stopped at Finn’s house. Finn stopped ploughing to give her a hesitant smile in greeting and Poe got up from where he had apparently been taking a break under the guise of handing Ben tools when he needed them. Poe announced her arrival and Ben glanced over.

  
“I’ll be finished in just a moment,” he called.

  
Rey nodded and went to chat with Finn in the field, careful not to step on the neat rows of dirt he had made. The horse was not much of a sight to see, a mousy brown coat uneven and dirty in some spots, and a little skinnier than most horses she’d seen. However, she couldn’t expect a prime horse for a poor farmer, and he was likely proud when he’d gotten the money to purchase it, which made her happy to think of.

  
“What’s his name?”

  
“Bee,” Finn replied patting his ribcage, “You can pet him if you’d like. He’s easygoing.”

  
From her vantage point, Rey could see Ben straddling the roof of the house, hammering away at the shingles. She nodded and went to give Bee a pat on the nose when she heard a hiss from the ground. Just in time, she jumped back to see a small garden snake slither away from the group, but not before it spooked the horse. Bee gave a loud whinny and raised his front hooves in fright causing Rey to shout instinctively and jump back. It was just a moment and from her peripheral view, Finn easily got Bee calmed down, but Rey had not been paying attention to that. At her shout, she had seen Ben startle, and then he was not on the roof anymore.

  
Finn had not seen him fall, but Rey had watched, and Poe had heard the thud from his place underneath the house. He had fallen on the opposite side, and Rey and Poe hastened to the spot, Rey dropping the basket of food in the process. Finn caught onto the situation quickly and followed with concern. Rey turned the corner of the house, Finn on her heels, to see Poe kneeling at her husband’s side. From what she quickly assessed, his right leg was clearly broken below the knee as it appeared crooked and shorter than the left one. He also seemed to have hit his head as a second impact with the ground and was rendered unconscious. Above his left brow, there was a minor scratch, but she did not doubt that it would begin to bruise. 

  
Poe was shaking his shoulder and calling out to him to no avail, but he had the wherewithal to turn to Rey to assuage her with a _reassuring_ , “Do not be alarmed, he’s breathing.”

  
Rey’s heart beat heavy in her chest, not even thinking about how he could have snapped his neck in the fall rather than his leg. It was strange to be feeling worried for him like she had never felt worried for someone before. Perhaps it was lucky, she surmised, that he hit his head so that he wouldn’t be conscious for the immediate pain. 

  
Poe lifted his shoulders and Rey tried not think about how his head rolled like a rag doll, “Finn, help me get him to the buggy.”

  
Finn shook his head, grabbed Ben’s arm and, in a shocking performance of strength, picked his limp body up onto his shoulders, holding him in place with his good leg and his arm, “No, he needs somewhere he can lay the leg flat. I’ve got a cart; you can use Bee to pull it to the main house. Someone else can use the buggy to fetch the surgeon in town.”

  
Poe looked up at Rey then, still seated on the ground, “I’ll go get the surgeon, go with Finn.”

  
Rey nodded and willed her lower lip not to wobble, Poe seemed to notice her distress, however, and stopped to pat her arm, “He’ll be alright.”

  
Finn had already laid him on the cart and was leading Bee by the reins to hook the gear into place. Not needing a hand for the step up, Rey pulled herself beside Ben’s prone form and watched his face for a sign of consciousness or pain. Finn sat on the small bench at the front of the cart and sent Bee into motion, the cart jerked forward, and Rey threw herself over Ben’s torso to keep him from sliding from the slightly inclined cart. To make sure he would continue to stay put, she situated herself with his head in her lap and her arms hooked underneath his, rooting him in place.

  
Finn peered over his shoulder at her, “Alright back there?”

  
“Yes,” she breathed, in and out, controlling her racing heart.

  
She took the time to study him as he lay sleeping and vulnerable in her lap. His head was jostled by the rickety cart each time it hit a rock—which was often—and it seemed that his bruising temple was drawn tight even in rest. The way his forehead was knotted almost seemed to cause his lips to pout, making him look petulant and pained. It made him look younger too. She cautiously wondered how old he was, and she felt ashamed that she did not know. _When was he born: spring, winter, autumn?_ She had been married for two months and still she knew little to nothing about him. The worry for him roiling in her stomach made it evident to her that she no longer despised him. Maybe she still could not forgive, but Rey did resolve then that she would make an effort to know the man she married. There was more to him than she accredited him with.

  
Ben began to stir awake as they pulled up to the house driveway. A groan tore loose from his throat, scratchy and pained, before his eyes opened. He blinked up at her before his eyes screwed shut once again and he grabbed his head, moaning nonsensically. 

  
“What happened?” He pushed out through pained pants.

  
“You took a tumble from the roof and broke your leg in the fall.”

  
Blearily, he looked up at her again, “You screamed.”

  
“I did,” a jolt of guilt rushed through her at the thought that she was the reason he injured himself, but she shook it off. She still didn’t like him so much and therefore could not waste moments in blame on herself when it was _his_ balance that must have been off kilter.

  
The cart stopped rolling and Finn jumped down to get him out, hauling him into the same position as before. It was somewhat more difficult when he was conscious though, and Ben couldn’t help from crying out as his leg was jostled in the movement. Rey was shaking a bit as she slipped from the cart and ran ahead into the house to lead Finn’s way. The servants gasped as they entered the hall. 

  
“Might as well get him to his room,” Finn suggested, “It’ll be more comfortable that way.”

  
Rey made eye contact with Ben and were it not for the situation they were in, she might have laughed. Of course, Rey had no idea which room was her husband’s room, but Finn wouldn’t know that. Ben, it seemed, had a sense of humor about it, and gave his small version of a smile (which of course was a mere twitching of the mouth). Her best guess was up the stairs, and to her relief yet embarrassment, Ben grunted out the directions to his room several doors down from her own. Finn laid him in his bed, and he clacked his teeth shut against the pain. 

  
“My advice to you, Mr. Solo, would be whiskey. You don’t want to be sober when that surgeon has to set that leg right again,” Finn nodded down at him.

  
Ben had taken to cradling his aching head and grinding his teeth. He could only nod in agreement, and Rey set out from the room to find a servant. She had barely set two steps into the hallway when she found three ladies listening at the wall. At her presence, they jumped back looking ashamed with themselves.

  
There was no time to reprimand them, so Rey was forced to overlook it, “Get me a bottle of whiskey, some wet cloths, and ice.”

  
They stared at her, and one girl dared ask, “What happened to the lord?”

  
Rey arched an eyebrow, “Immediately, please. Now.”

  
They scurried off just as Leia was bustling up the hall looking both confused and troubled. Rey ran into her arms and, in just one instant, she was a child being comforted by a mother—something she had never experienced before, and she gave a dry, shuddering sob at the feeling. Leia pat her back and asked her what had happened. With an ache, Rey pulled away at arm’s length and recounted the events with as much brevity as possible.

  
“He’ll be alright,” she finished as they hurried together into the room, “He’s just in pain, and he scared me.”

  
Ben was in much the same position as they had left him, but he looked up at his mother when she entered. Leia shook her head and took off his boots. Rey could see she tried to be gentle as she took off the right one, but Ben still thrashed and cried out even so. Gently but efficiently, Leia rolled up the end of the breeches to expose his crooked leg to her view. A lump made its way to Rey’s throat upon seeing the injury. The bone had clearly slid from place and though the skin covering it remained smooth and unbroken, there was a bulbous knot just inches below his knee on the outer part of his leg. It was understandable to her that he would be sweating and shaking and gritting his teeth. 

  
Leia stood back and clucked her tongue, “Whatever will I do with you, Ben?”

  
Finn, Rey noticed, had backed up to the door and looked rather out of place, “I’ll leave you here, then.”

  
Rey smiled, small and fearful, but a smile all the same, “Thank you very much for your help, Finn.”

  
Ben laughed shakily, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to finish your roof.”

  
“That’s just fine, you just take it easy. If not for your sake, then for Mrs. Solo’s. You gave her a mighty bad fright.”

  
With that, he took off and Ben was staring up at her. Her cheeks flushed, and she internally scolded herself. Of course, she was frightened, he’d fallen off a roof. There was nothing special about her reaction to that. Still though, his gaze was penetrating, and she pretended not to see. Luckily, the three maids walked in carrying the necessary items and Rey got to work. 

  
Grabbing the whiskey and the cloths, she sat at the head of his bed. She uncapped the whiskey and pressed it to his lips. His eyes darted to hers, and he did not break eye contact as she gave him a swig from the bottle. She used the cloth to dab at the scratch on his forehead, giving him more swigs of whiskey intermittently. Leia was at the foot of the bed wrapping the ice in a cloth before placing it lightly next to the knot on his leg. He hissed, and Rey took that as her cue to ply him with more whiskey.

  
“How are you feeling?”

  
“Like I’m not nearly drunk enough for what follows,” he slurred either through tipsiness or pain, she was not sure.

  
Poe burst through the door with an older man in tow whom she presumed was the surgeon. Instantly the man assessed the leg and muttered to himself, not nearly as gentle in his pokes and prods as Rey and Leia had been, causing Ben to occasionally suck in a sharp breath. Poe, for all his usual bravado, looked quite pale with his eyes fixed on Ben’s injury. The doctor took notice.

  
“Perhaps it would be best if everyone waited outside.”

  
Rey shook her head, “I won’t be doing that.”

  
Leia eyed her daughter-in-law and her son, “I should think not.”

  
Poe sucked in a breath, “Not to be shown up by the ladies, but I believe I know when I’ve been beaten.”

  
She smiled at him as he backed from the room, “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  
The process of setting the leg would be excruciating, Rey could only guess. The surgeon quickly explained to the room that the bone would have to be pulled and pushed back into position. The pain, he explained, would likely come from the muscles having to stretch back from where they had contracted and knotted around the site of the fracture. If all went well, the right leg would be the same length as the left once again, and Ben would have to keep off it for close to six months. If it didn’t, the leg could be shorter, and Ben could run the risk of a perpetual limp and the eventual corrosion of his good leg’s knee, hip, and ankle over time. The surgeon looked to Ben as his hands hovered over his calf, and Ben nodded. 

  
Leia had positioned herself above the surgeon and held Ben’s upper leg in place so that the surgeon would have an easier time pulling the bone from the calf to snap it back into place. Rey had remained kneeling by his head with the whiskey, her skirt flared around her, covering her ankles tucked beneath her. When the surgeon had started, his torso thrashed somewhat, his chest heaving and shuddering even as the pain had caused him to shake and shiver. Feeling it was right in the moment, she covered his hand with her own from where it had been clutching his quilt so desperately, she feared his white knuckles would pop through the taught skin thinly covering them. Instantly, his hand released the quilt and held onto hers though not with the same force he had grasped at the bedding with. 

  
Their eyes connected and her chest constricted. It was a testament to his tolerance for pain that he did not scream, but the pain made itself known in other ways. His skin was paler than she’d ever seen (he was naturally decently pale, but this was new entirely) save for the blotches of red on his forehead where he’d been bruised and where the veins were straining at the temple. Sweat dripped from the tips of his hair and rolled down the sides of his face, but not to be mistaken with the minuscule tear tracks down his cheeks. She gave him more whiskey. He choked on it at first when a scream threatened to tear out of his throat, but she watched with awe as he tampered it back and took what he was given.

  
The process took no more than a minute or so, but it felt as though it had lasted for much longer. It was quiet, but Rey could less hear and more feel the moment the bone went back into place. The surgeon set his leg down, Leia backed away, Ben slid down the bed in exhaustion, and Rey continued to hold onto his hand. The older man was inspecting the two legs very closely to see if it was correct, but Rey was still transfixed on her husband. His chest gleamed with sweat as it tumultuously rose and fell, shaking and shuddering, switching between long breaths and terse ones. His eyes had fluttered closed, somewhat scrunched still at the throbbing likely smarting up his fractured bone, but there was peace there too—a paltry abatement to the suffering. Tentatively, she lifted her hand to his forehead and brushed the damp, dark strands of hair from his eyes. A minute sigh brushed past his lips, and he did not, as she half-expected, open his eyes in surprise at her featherlight touch. 

  
Distantly, Rey could hear the surgeon and Leia discussing the recovery period, something about a fracture box being sent over, and the matter of his payment. It might have been a conversation she was supposed to take an active role in, but she was fixated elsewhere. Her thumb traced circles over the knuckles of his hand and used the wet cloth to gently wipe away the sweat and tears from his face.

  
“How are you feeling?” She repeated the question from earlier, but softer, for his ears only.

  
His fingers closed around hers in a gentle clutch, and he murmured without opening his eyes, “Pleasantly intoxicated.”

  
Against all odds, a smile persuaded its way onto her face, “Pleasantly? Is that so?”

  
One eye cracked open briefly, the corner of his mouth lifted, and it almost seemed as if he were smirking at her—which could only have to do with drunkenness, “Mostly.”

  
The surgeon was bracing his leg with a splint, wedging the limb between two slats of unforgiving wood bound together by linens. Ben winced and closed his eyes once more, focusing on breathing it seemed. The surgeon finished his work and began taking his leave.

  
“I’ll return tomorrow with the fracture box, ‘til then do your best to keep the leg elevated and make no attempts to move it. Best to get some rest, sleep is the best remedy.”

  
He left, and Leia squeezed her son’s shoulder (who made no move to acknowledge her), giving Rey a pointed look to leave as well. Rey slid off the bed, Ben’s hand still holding onto hers. Impulsively, she pressed a chaste kiss to his temple—much like the kiss he had given to her on _the night_. He _did_ open his eyes in surprise then, but her fingers had already slipped from his as she made her hasty retreat.

  
“Rey,” he called quietly, and she halted, waiting for him to continue, “Thank you.”

  
He only raised his head to peer at her over his pillow-elevated leg. His mouth worked over in the nervous way she’d come to distinguish about him, and he looked incredibly young and vulnerable. 

  
“Of course.”

  
“Thank you for the tea.”

  
The memory of the night of the storm spun through her mind, and she blushed. She thought it had been an unspoken rule between them to not mention it, but she figured it must have only been a confirmation of his inebriation. Her mouth opened to make a reply, but he had already flopped his head back onto the pillows and let his eyes slide shut, effectively ending the conversation. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whump trope?? In my regency era au??? It's more likely than you think :)


	5. The Unlikely Gardener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben's leg increasingly recovers, while Rey becomes increasingly pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Expect another chapter by tomorrow, they'll be the last chapters I can post pre-tRoS (it is the end of an era). This was a fun chapter to write, so I hope it's as much fun to read :)

For two days and two nights, Ben stayed in a constant stasis of drunk or asleep or—oftentimes—both. Sometimes his state would morph into thirsty and dehydrated, which would morph into hungover, which he would then drink water and sleep off. His leg remained suspended in a fracture box—a stand sat on the bed several inches above with leather straps connected between the two blocks of wood for his injured leg to rest on—and would continue to remain as such for at least a month per the doctor’s insistence. The fracture could have been much worse, he had told her when he’d dropped off the box, and could have even resulted in the removal of the bottom half of the leg entirely. This, he had stressed, was why his orders needed to be followed to the detail, lest the worst come to pass by negligence. 

  
Aside from Ben’s abnormal routine (or utter lack of one at all), the rest of the house went back to normal. Poe occasionally visited him, during the periods of drunkenness, for an hour or two, but otherwise, he continued to spend the days working on Finn’s roof. Leia visited him in his sleep (Rey assumed this was the least controversial time for her to do so), took her tea with Rey, and continued her diligent work on the yellow hat (which was soon to be part of a matching set consisting of yellow socks and perhaps even a scarf and—heaven forbid—a blanket). Rey for the most part avoided her husband’s room entirely, seeing no point in sitting by his side while he, either from unconsciousness or intoxication, had nothing intellectual to add in discussion. Nettie had tried to nudge her in his direction, saying it was good for a man’s spirits to know his woman was waiting for him. Rey did not like the implication so much of being “his woman.” Her response had merely been to fetch her once he was awake and refusing whiskey.

  
The third day, Nettie, grinning from ear to ear, interrupted her teatime with Leia to tell her as much. Leia suggested bringing a tray of tea and biscuits to his room, and Nettie had smiled and declared it quite the romantic gesture. Rey swallowed the sick that threatened to rise at the sickly tune of her declaration, while Leia smirked into a cup of tea, eyes glittering. All the same, she agreed and found herself standing outside his closed door with a tray of tea and biscuits in her arms, listening to he and Poe discuss something peculiar.

  
“She does _not_ despise you, old friend. That’s absurd.” Poe’s voice, and Rey could only guess with a blush as to who the _she_ was.

  
Her husband’s voice was morose, and she wished she were not eavesdropping (not making a move to interrupt though all the same), “I cannot believe that, not when she has every right to.”

  
“Come now, you weren’t awake for it, but you gave her quite the scare when you fell off the roof. She’d nearly burst into tears.”

  
A hint of sarcasm and self-loathing dripped from Ben’s tone, “I fell off a roof, how the blazes was she supposed to react?”

  
_Exactly_ , Rey found herself enthusiastically nodding along to his words in agreement. She would have reacted the same had any one of them fallen off the roof. The only reason Poe was remarking on it was because it had just so happened that her husband was the lucky one. 

  
“If she really despised you, she might have cheered.”

  
_Enough of that_ , Rey knocked on the door and thoroughly put a stop to the old friends’ conversation. Poe received her looking as delightful as ever and walked her inside to the bedroom. Ben’s eyes widened upon seeing her, but he made no sound of greeting.

  
“Look here, Rey’s made sure you would not miss your afternoon tea,” Rey did not miss the way Poe gave a pointed look to her husband, and she willed her cheeks not to redden, “I would love to stay more and chat, but I thought I might go over to Mr. Freedman’s and give an extra hand.”

  
Unable to stop herself from wondering aloud, Rey blurted a sharp, “Again?”

  
Rey calculated he could only have just returned from the tenant’s home an hour before. Poe, inexplicably, flushed to his ears, stammered on his excuse, and all but scurried from the room. The behavior was so unusual from his normal, assured self that Rey could only pretend it had not happened at all in order to spare him. She decided to pour Ben a cup of tea.

  
“Those two seem to be spending more and more time together. I almost wonder if they’ve become good friends,” she remarked as she watched the black tea steam and slosh its way into the white porcelain.

  
Ben accepted without looking up from the curls of steam swirling from the lip of the cup and murmured as if he were not really speaking to her, “Yes, he needs to be careful about that.”

  
The tone in which the words were spoken were laden with a sub textual meaning, and Rey was almost sure she could guess what was hinted at. It was not in her nature to pry into people’s personal affairs, but when the bearer of answers was before her eyes, the nature came easier to her. 

  
“I don’t mean to pry, and I certainly do not mean to offend should it not be the case but,” she eyed him carefully, and he merely watched the dark liquid in his cup swirl, “Does Mr. Dameron, well, does he prefer the company of men?”

  
His eyes met hers and they narrowed slightly, like he was trying to decipher whether or not he could trust her with sensitive information, then the tension she had not realized him to be holding evaporated, “I have always suspected since we were boys, but it was something I never mentioned to him and have invariably kept to myself.”

  
There was slight surprise, and then amusement burgeoned in her chest until she was laughing. Ben looked surprised and she could not tell if he was surprised at her reaction or surprised to see her laugh at all—perhaps both, she reasoned. It was only a brief moment, and then she settled herself to not make herself seem completely ridiculous. 

  
“Sorry,” she took a sip of her tea and smiled, “It is only that when I first came into society and started going to the balls, he always asked me to dance with him and was so friendly that I had thought for sure he would ask me to marry him. It is all very amusing in hindsight. Anyway, I suppose I’m glad he did not.”

  
His eyes narrowed again like before, in an effort to read her expression, “Is that true?”

  
She took a large gulp of her hot tea to finish it off and stood, smiling, “Yes, it is.”

  
“Are you leaving?” Something in his shoulders, sagging a bit, and a droop in one side of his mouth gave her the impression that he was disappointed.

  
“Yes,” she stood by the door, tentatively, “I had some gardening matters that I forgot to attend to this morning with the weather getting colder. I’m sure it must be dull with naught to do, but I could send some books over from the library if you would like?”

  
He nodded, but his expression did not change, “Thank you, that is thoughtful.”

  
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” the words tumbled from her lips unattended to, “and I may be able to stay for longer, but we shall see.”

  
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at that, and she took that as her excuse to gracefully make her exit. As she promised, she returned for tea again the next day. Poe had not returned from Finn’s farm, and Leia had given her a mischievous smirk when she announced she was going to give the temporary invalid of the house some much needed company. To her satisfaction, she found his nose stuck in one of the books she had sent over the day before.

  
“Reading, are we?” She teased and poured him a cup of tea.

  
She watched with cup outstretched as his dark brown eyes finished the line he was reading before gently setting the book aside and accepted his cup with a sheepish, tight-lipped smile (the only smile she could wrangle from him), “Yes, thank you again for the books. They are the better ones in our inventory.”

  
A playful smirk just marginally inched onto her expression, “Well, they were on the list you sent me, so I supposed I should congratulate _you_ on your impeccable taste.”

  
Scarlet flushed his cheeks, “Yes, well. Do you enjoy reading?”

  
_A question, about me_ , her brain stuttered, _that is not something done_. Not to mention, she feared, her answer was most likely disappointing to him.

  
Eye contact was duly avoided in the way of sipping tea and brushing strands of hair behind her ear, “Admittedly, I do not read as often as I ought to. I enjoy it, I taught myself how to actually,” his eyebrows raised at that from the corner of her vision, “but I am afraid the highbrow often flies over my head or tends to make me lethargic. You must enjoy it though. What is your favorite piece of writing?”

  
She snuck a glance at him and—credit where credit was due—he seemed to be mulling the thought over with great deliberation. Nothing in his expression seemed to her that he judged her for her response, and she was glad for it, the tension easing out of her bones with cautious sips of tea. Then, in quite the plebeian fashion, he shrugged his shoulders.

  
“I’m not sure. I have read too many to pick, I think.”

  
Light teasing and smiles were beginning to come more naturally to her in their conversations and she wasn’t sure how to process it just then, but she let it happen regardless, “Ah, you must have read all the books in the library to be sure!”

  
Perhaps he had not picked up on her teasing, but his face was serious as he nodded and responded, “Yes, everything worth reading, twice.”

  
A surprised blink and then, “What are your criteria for a book worth reading, then?”

  
“If it is an encyclopedia, an atlas, or not yet translated from Latin, I confess they leave little to my imagination.”

  
The words had been said genuinely, but there was some mischievous light that passed over his eyes—very similar to the look his mother gives her so often—that let her know that he was, indeed and shockingly, making an _actual_ joke. _Little to the imagination, indeed_. Rey laughed, and he gave her the same look as the day before when she laughed, a mix of surprise and astonishment.

  
“I actually have read an atlas _and_ enjoyed it. It was perhaps one of the only books that I could fully understand, after all, there is no hidden meaning in an atlas.”

  
“Is it the hidden meanings, then, which deter you from fiction?”

  
She leaned forward a bit, somewhat surprised to be interested in their discussion, “No! Far from it, actually, I find the hidden meanings fascinating. The problem is that I innately cannot pluck them all from the words and therefore, after I have told someone the book I had read, they want to talk about the _subtext_ —which I almost always know nothing about. Then I am left feeling like a fool or having to pretend that I’m brighter than I am, which is exhausting.”

  
A darkness settled over his brow, and Rey almost suspected he was angry over something, but when he looked at her, it lightened into sincerity, “As long as you enjoy reading, let no one discourage you from it. You don’t rely on undertones and complexities to enjoy fiction, which is just as admirable as someone who does. More so, in fact, if the other person only reads for the secret meaning so they may lord it over others—that is then no longer in the realm of true enjoyment of literature, but rather capitalism.”

  
Rey’s head tilted imperceptibly as she mulled his words over, “That is rather philosophical of you. Perhaps you should write a book, and then you could explain it to me.”

  
He seemed pleased, “ _Perhaps not_. However, should you ever wish it when you are reading, I could leave you a note of what to look for,” it was teasing yet it was also genuine, and she chuckled good-naturedly.

  
“I’ll _consider_ it.”

  
Ben’s month of staying stationed solely in his bed passed by amicably. Rey continued to pay him company, and she was not unhappy to find that there were thoughtful discussions to be had with him—who she was beginning to warm up to and could almost consider a friend. They did not always speak, sometimes they would sip their tea in silence for a good hour, but it was never uncomfortable. When they did speak, she always learned something new about him.

  
She discovered that he and Poe (who had since _long_ overstayed his welcome by several months, but none of the parties of the house seemed to mind) met when they were young boys visiting London. Poe’s mother and Leia were abolitionists together and friends. The two would often tote their young sons with them around the city to hand out pins and educational pamphlets. In the wake of politicking, they became unlikely friends.

  
Rey discovered that Ben did not like to talk about his father. She once brought him up out of curiosity. Leia, she had recalled, said he was something of a sailor, and asked if Ben had ever been on his boat—or if he had a boat at all (which she assumed he would, given the rich nature of his family). He had muttered something about him having a ‘junk.’ Rey had assured him that it probably wasn’t so bad, and he had explained that it _was_ a _piece of junk_ , but that it was _also_ a kind of Chinese trading ship. She had been immediately intrigued and wanted to know all about how he acquired a Chinese ship—their ship making practices were typically banned from being spread. In so many words he explained that he won it in a bet, while he was in China with the Royal Navy. At the sound of the Royal Navy, Rey was again all ears, but Ben quickly put her down by declaring he did not like to talk much about his father, and he would appreciate it if they could discuss something else entirely. Cautiously, Rey asked if he was still alive, and he had glared at her with such intensity that she scooted her chair away in shock. The silence that had followed them for the rest of _that_ particular tea was, in fact, as uncomfortable as it could possibly be until he muttered a quiet apology (she did not immediately forgive him for several days, but they were able to have friendly silence for a week).

  
In addition, she learned that he would routinely have oranges brought into the home, imported from India, and would eat them as a snack close to religiously. In the same time frame, she also learned that he did not even like oranges. She found it odd and asked him as much, but he only gave a cryptic answer about the oranges being a ‘matter of habit.’ Having learned her lesson on not to press him on certain topics from the incident with his father—though not entirely knowing why oranges could be so dramatic—she left well enough alone.

  
Perhaps the most important fact she gleaned from her time spent with him was his age. Upon her query, he responded that he was nine and twenty, and then he politely asked for hers. Rey had told him that she was not yet twenty. At that, oddly, his face heated the most ferocious shade of red she had seen on him to date, and he could not look her in the eye. After some uncomfortable silence, he made a strangled comment that she was still very young. Rey could not help but laughing at him, but he did not watch her with the surprised or awed look she had grown accustomed to in reaction to her laugh, and she teased (in an effort to make him feel better over whatever it was he was bemoaning in his head) that he was hardly sprouting any grey hairs himself. It was then that she noticed where his gaze had fallen. Where once he had been earnestly meeting her eyes, it had fallen to the swell of her nearly five-months-along belly. It was then that the residual guilt combined with her ever-fleeting youth could be seen expressly on his countenance. Gently, though she was not positive why, she assured him that she would be twenty before _it_ would arrive.

  
At the end of his month of confinement, the doctor gave Ben permission to leave the bed once a day so long as he had his crutch, never put pressure on the leg, and always had a chaperone present. His first attempt at standing was a resounding disaster. Granted, the four of them should have known that his good leg would still have been weak from disuse. Moreover, it should have been Poe he was leaning against as he was the strongest between the other three, however, out of the active, young gentleman, the elderly woman, and the pregnant woman, Rey drew the unlucky lot of aiding him to stand. She had held him steady with an arm under his shoulder as he put pressure on his left leg. A short-lived and shining moment passed where she acted as his right leg, and his left leg functioned as it was supposed to.

  
It was then that the muscles in his left leg gave a great tremble and his knee wobbled right out from underneath him. The way his balance was shifted had him careening into her, and she tried to brace herself and push back as best she could, given his superior height and general size difference from her. Poe, she saw in slow motion, was leaping into action. However, before the full weight of her tall, tree-like husband crashed onto her, Ben did something _flagrant_. With the remaining strength of his left leg, he twisted away from her and flung himself with the utmost drama back onto his bed—thankfully landing on his left side and not hitting his right leg on anything damaging. Poe, Leia, and Rey could only look down at him in bewilderment.

  
It was Rey who spoke first, a good scolding tearing out of her throat and making the rest of the room flinch with the harsh tone directed down at Ben’s panting form, “What the _blazes_ were you thinking, Ben? You could have hurt yourself more than you already have! If you had fallen on your leg again and rebroken it, it could have given you _permanent_ damage! You heard the doctor—you were just the lucky side of close to _losing your leg_!”

  
Red-faced and heaving and half-hanging off the bed, but being careful to not allow his dangling right leg to touch the floor, he stammered, the most nervous sounding she had ever heard him, “I—I didn’t want to,” he gestured to her emphatically, “I didn’t want to fall on you and,” he then vaguely gestured in the direction of her protruding midsection, “and on— _on_.”

  
It was that moment—Ben haphazardly strewn on his bed, mortified from being weak and mortified from her beratement of him in front of his mother and his best friend—that Poe Dameron began to guffaw. Rey, who had only been glaring daggers down on Ben, and Ben, who had only been looking up at her in a mimicry of pleading for mercy, both snapped their heads to watch the grown gentleman burst into a fit of wheezing mirth. Not long after, Leia cracked a smile and, reluctantly, began to chuckle behind her hand before giving up all pretense of sparing her son’s pride and chortled right along with Mr. Dameron. Rey had not thought it possible for a person’s face to be so red, but her husband’s certainly was as he roughly pulled himself into a stoic sitting position on his bed.

  
Despite Ben’s clear mortification, Rey felt something akin to also being laughed at, and she felt herself growing irritated, “Explain yourself, Poe.”

  
Between undignified cackles, Poe managed to grit out, “Ben—looked— _ridiculous_.”

  
After the fact, Rey’s mind replayed the moment her austere husband spun like dreidel on a wobbling leg, arms-a-flailing, into his bed. The way he bounced a bit on impact and his shoulder-length hair fanned around his head in midair made its way into her recap of the events as well. Not to mention, his stunted stammering and comical gesturing. It was not long before a grin spread crooked onto her face until she too joined in on the merriment and clutched her sides over her belly bump from the aching the laughter brought on.

  
Ben still sat red-faced and near pouting on his bed, and Rey jostled his arm genially, “Oh, Ben, you really shouldn’t take yourself so seriously all the time.”

  
A twitch of his lips indicated a hint of amusement, “I _felt_ rather ridiculous.”

  
Poe cheered at his admission and clapped him on the back, which brought a hesitant smile to his face. Then, Rey was awestruck as he began to _really_ laugh, ducking his head to hide his face beneath the curtain of his thick, dark hair at first with just his shoulders shaking in indication. She could hear his breathy chuckles, voice cracking a bit as she supposed he was not typically accustomed to laughter, and they were endearing in their gracelessness, but the feeling paled in comparison to seeing him toss his head back and squint his eyes in laughter. His teeth—never seen before in the wake of close-lipped, reserved smiles—were crooked but the imperfection only added to the ungainly, bewitching sight of him _laughing_ and _smiling_. Her laugh faltered, and her heart stuttered, a knot settling in her stomach. The view was just so _lovely_ that she felt she could hardly look at it—at him—straight on, almost like the stinging rays of the sun. No one noticed her abrupt pause, and the room remained in a fit of laughter for some time after. 

* * *

  
His further attempts at mobility were lesser subjects for hilarity, and as the months of recovery passed on, the more adept he became at navigating the house with a splint and crutch. At the fourth month of Ben’s recovery and a little over seventh months of pregnancy for Rey, the doctor even remarked that he might be able to be fully recovered within the month should nothing go amiss and so long as he put no stress on it save just the weight of himself on occasion. All in all, the more mobile Ben became, the less mobile Rey became. Her belly had swollen to the point where she could no longer bend down to tend to her garden, which dismayed her greatly. 

  
At tea, Poe (still a guest, somehow, though still no one commented on his lengthy residence) was absent at Finn’s farm and checking on the tenant’s in Ben’s stead (though mostly checking on one particular tenant, Rey mused). Ben was still trapped in the house, though Rey recalled that before the storm, his daily routine had formerly consisted of coming back to the house for tea anyhow. Leia was making a yellow blanket.

  
“How is the garden? The days are getting warmer, is anything in bloom yet?”

  
Rey smiled sadly, “Some of the flowers bloomed early, yes.”

  
His cup clinked against its saucer, “Does something trouble you?”

  
“I’ve been a tad negligent the past several weeks, some weeds need to be picked, but,” she rested a hand on the natural shelf that had become her stomach, “I can’t bend over as well as I used to.”

  
“I could do it.”

  
She waved a hand, “You’re still unbalanced, there’s no sense in risking you toppling over.”

  
Without looking up from her softly clicking needles, Leia suggested, “He could sit and pull the weeds. It could be good for him.”

  
Ben eyed his mother, not with suspicion, but a certain degree of curiosity, “Yes, that is true, and I know you don’t like the staff being involved.”

  
Rey wondered how they ever got from the point of her hoping he would never ask her more than one question a day to being pleased at the sound of him saying the words ‘ _and I know you_.’ She had agreed, but only if he promised to be careful, which he did, of course. They had made their ways to the garden and from then on, it became ingratiated into their routine that she would sit on the bench and point to the things she needed done. He would then hobble where she pointed and sit down dutifully. The only sound would be her instructions and the birds chirping in the tall, oak tree in the center of the garden. For a time, it was perfect, until the final month of her pregnancy reared its monstrous features. 

  
It had been almost sweet, his carefulness in the months prior. The way he had not embarrassed himself to keep from falling on her. The way he assisted her in the garden. Then, he was able to walk freely at last, and she was forced to waddle on aching feet everywhere, and he was not so sweet. It was not that he was unkind or cruel—far, far from it. It was that he was inescapable. Ben was always four steps behind her and two if she was doing something that he did not think she was supposed to be doing. He was always there to chide her like a child for lifting something ( _anything_ , really, unless it was her cup of tea or dinner goblet) or walking too much or not holding onto the handrail when she ascended the stairs. What did not help was that her tendency for wrath was particularly ferocious as she spent most of her waking moments miserable and sore and _hating_ him for never leaving her alone and for being the reason she was as miserable as she was in the first place. 

  
One particular night, the arches of her feet were particularly sore from hobbling about—which Ben had not hesitated to gently scold her for—and her ankles were swollen. Her back was sore and felt in need of a massage in the lumbar region. Ben had also been particularly oppressive, and her patience was wrung thin. Leia had suggested lounging in the drawing room after dinner, which Rey had agreed to, knowing full well sleep would allude her for some time with her aches as bad as they were (Ben, of course, had eyed her skeptically and looked on the verge of suggesting she retire early). As she hobbled toward the drawing room, one hand resting on her lower back and one holding her belly, her ankle gave a sharp twinge and she gave one small, insecure step, quickly corrected. However, the minute she had given a minuscule leer to the side, Ben had appeared out of nowhere by her side and attempted to take a hold of her to steady her. The wrathful beast snapped its jowls in her chest, and Rey let it loose.

  
Violently, she batted his hand away with hers and her voice sounded close to revolted and overly harsh (though she would not admit it to herself for some time), “Get _off_ of me!”

  
Leia and Poe turned around to watch the two with wide eyes, caution written all over their tight lips. Ben looked like a kicked puppy with his eyes wide, his mouth parted minimally, and his eyebrows drawn together and slightly raised. Poe walked over and lightly jabbed Ben in the rib with his elbow. Ben did not stop looking down at her with something akin to sorrow.

  
“What do you say we go up to your study and indulge in a cigar?”

  
“I don’t keep cigars,” Ben mumbled, still holding her fiery gaze.

  
Poe pushed lightly at his friend in the direction of the stairs, “Come now, you know I always keep some just in case the hankering strikes.”

  
At just this moment, Leia shuffled to Rey’s side and looped her arm into hers and pulled her in the direction of the drawing room, effectively splitting the marital couple apart, “Come dear, let me show you the finished blanket!”

  
Once the door is shut and Leia eased her onto the couch, the older woman sat next to her and clutched her hands in her warm and worn ones, “Tell me what the matter is, dear. I want the truth.”

  
Rey mumbled about the pain in her feet and her lower back and how her ankles were swollen. She complained about not being able to see over her stomach and having to waddle everywhere on the feet that hurt so much. Leia, knowing that was not the whole of the story, duly nodded and allowed Rey to bring herself to the point. At some point, there was nothing more to complain about dealing with being pregnant save one thing. Rey took a deep breath and plowed on. 

  
“I feel suffocated.”

  
“By my son,” it was not a question, merely an observation.

  
“It’s,” Rey struggled to find the right word to match her frustration, “He’s overbearing and he’s _always there_ and he always has some comment to make about what I’m doing wrong and I just cannot—”

  
Leia clucked her tongue and wiped away a tear trailing its way down Rey’s cheek, “I know, dear. Men do not handle our aches and pains as well as we do, but if anything, obnoxious though it may be, it shows what we are worth to them. Ben does _care_ for you.”

  
Rey was not ready to feel sorry and soft for him yet, bitterness was still on her tongue, “I could be carrying the future heir to his estate—of course he _cares_ for me.”

  
Leia shook her head, “Do you really believe that?”

  
A shaky shrug was all Rey could give in response, and Leia reworded her question tactfully, “Do you think my son married you for no reason?”

  
She sighed and wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her gown, “I suppose the reason most men take wives. To receive an heir.”

  
Her mother in law tucked a damp strand of hair behind her ear and patted her cheek, “ _Most men_ get paid by the lady’s parents to do so, not the other way around.”

  
Rey had never considered this from such a perspective and was struck silent. All for the better, really, as it seemed there was more Leia had to say. Her face had turned grave, and Rey could not recall in the eight months of knowing her to look so serious.

  
“I can admit now that Han and I were not the best of parents. Han was always leaving to go back to sea, and I was always leaving to fight for change in London, so we thought it would best if we sent Ben to live with his uncle—my brother, Luke, the clergyman and teacher to the poor—when he was just fourteen,” she shook her head, looking thoroughly mournful, “That was a mistake, it only made him feel like we did not want him more, and for all my brother’s good-heartedness, he was not made to be a father. He never failed to tell Ben, who just wanted someone to pay attention to him, that Ben was wealthier and more privileged than the poorer students demanding Luke's attention. He always told Ben he needed to stop being selfish when he wanted to spend time with him.

  
When he turned eighteen, I thought it was the perfect time to bring him back. He could take over running the estate, and I could visit London more often, which was selfish of me. However, the damage had been done, and he hated us. Then, for sure, now, I’m less sure. He vowed to me that he would never marry, and he would never have children. The estate would pass to a distant cousin, and he would have satisfaction. This is the first time I had known my son to make an idle threat.”

  
Rey was shocked at the explosion of information she suddenly had about her husband’s mysterious childhood, and her mind raced to catch up and leave no detail unturned. Leia smiled.

  
“I don’t mean to throw all this information at you to make you feel sorry for him because he had a disappointing childhood—we all have disappointing childhoods; it doesn’t make anyone special. I just wanted you to know how special your very existence here is. Maybe you did not choose to be here, I suspect, but I am glad you are—not out of a sense of duty to keep the estate in the family—but your home is here. There is no shallow ulterior motive such as whether or not you can further the family line, this is something else.”

  
Rey nodded, remaining in shock, “Thank you—for telling me, and just—well—thank you, in general I suppose.”

  
Leia stood up, and Rey eyes followed her, “I’ll leave you to think, God knows I can see it in your eyes how badly you need to.”

  
Before she left, she gave Rey a kiss on the top of her head and a motherly pinch to her cheek. Rey stayed in the room for hours, it seemed, just thinking. She heard the creak of the men’s footsteps heading to their respective rooms upstairs, and the servants seemed to forget she was there entirely and had all gone home or to their quarters. There was much to consider. One such consideration that perplexed her greatly was the matter of how similar yet different her childhood had been to Ben’s. While perhaps his parents had not _actually_ abandoned him like hers had (this was a new word for her: _abandonment_ ), it had still felt like it, she was sure, and that was something the two of them understood to feel. The feeling of being raised by someone other than your parents, feeling inadequate because they had left you. They were all too similar in that regard for her comfort. 

  
Eventually, sleep tugged at the back of her senses, and she rose to make her way to bed. That was when a peculiar tugging sensation pulled on her navel it seemed from the inside. It had been a sensation she’d felt before, and she stopped to consider what it was. That was when she felt the liquid running down the insides of her legs and pooling onto the floor. Her face turned white. Her child was coming.


	6. The Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is soft, this is very soft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm watching tRoS in less than two hours, and I already know how it ends and I'm emotional so I perhaps overcompensated with the softness in this one. Don't get too comfortable though, the regularly scheduled angst should arrive in just two more chapters :)

There was no one on the ground floor that Rey knew to be awake. Another pull at her navel left her gasping and hunched over her stomach. She would have to walk up the stairs and wake Leia, she would know what to do—she’d done it before. The walking was tough, her feet were still sore, her ankles still swollen, and she was panicking just slightly. It took everything in her to lift her shaking foot to the stair and much more to pull herself up by the railing. The halfway mark of the grand stairs had her sweating, and she couldn’t help the fat, scared tears dripping off her nose. A creak of the floorboards caused her to halt and nearly weep with relief.

It was that time of the night when Ben mysteriously roamed the halls for a reason she still could not understand. Typically, she would lie in bed and leave him unbothered, but she was not in bed, and it was an emergency. All thoughts of her former anger with him at checking on her and steadying her constantly melted away, and she wished for nothing more than just that.

His footsteps neared the stairs, she clutched the railing and called up to him, “Ben?”

The footsteps halted, and she could see him at the top of the stairs in a robe and slippers, “Rey? Is everything alright? Why are you still awake?”

She gasped and doubled over, not even needing to speak for him to go bounding down the stairs as if he’d never broken his leg six months ago. Without any hesitation or warning, he scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing (which was certainly not true considering the extra life trying its hardest to pop out of her right then) and took the stairs two at a time. Rey saved her comment about how he should not be putting any strain on his newly healed injury for later. On the way to her room, Poe stumbled bleary-eyed from his room and mumbled something about a ‘commotion.’

There was no question or gentleness in Ben’s voice as he barked in passing, “Go get the doctor, _now._ ”

She had no time to see if Poe obeyed his orders as Ben had already swiftly strode into her room and gracefully deposited her on her bed. He pulled a chair from the corner and sat next to her. Belatedly, Rey thought about how she’d snapped at him only hours before to the point that he had looked like he would perhaps cry. She also remembered all she’d learned about his past from Leia, and how similar the two were in regard to shared trauma. The space between them was soupy, and the silence was uncomfortable.

“Go get your mother, she’ll know what to do,” Rey pleaded.

To her dismay, he shook his head firmly, “No, I won’t leave you by yourself until the doctor arrives.”

It did not escape her notice that this had been the main source of her ire with him for the weeks leading up to the moment. He had never left her alone. For all the discomfort and uneasiness his presence brought, he also had some benefits. He grasped her hand and rubbed soothing circles into the knuckle and brushed her hair from where it was plastered in sweat and tears on her face. The scene was so similar to how she had acted when he broke his leg ( _holding his hand, brushing his hair from his forehead_ ), and she wondered if he was mimicking the care she had given him to make up for how little he knew about how to give care to people in pain.

Ben’s eyes held the key to his true emotions. They flickered every which way, watching her but unable to settle on one part of her. Each time she made any movement, his eyes were instantly upon it. Rey could fixate on the pattern of his breathing which him being so close to her as well—a sharp, jagged, punctuated, staccato rhythm. He was panicked.

“Are you afraid?”

His fearful gaze flickered to hers, and she had not expected him to confirm it. Rapidly, his head shook up and down in a semblance of a nod. Once again, as he did on all nervous occasions, he pressed his lips into a thin line and rolled them over with his teeth, making his jaw twinge and only adding to his general overwrought appearance.

“Look at me,” he acquiesced to her command, and she held her chin up, projecting a steadfast front, “There is something I want you to understand. Most children are raised by servants, and I will refuse to do so with mine.”

The tension in his jaw softened just so, and he lifted a hand to brush another strand of hair from her face, “I know. It did me no favors.”

Despite hearing the confirmation of his words only hours before from his mother herself, Rey opened her mouth to defend her friend all the same, but he put a trembling finger over her lips to stop her, “I do not mean to imply that I had a lousy mother. I only mean to say that had been my reality despite my mother’s virtues.”

Rey took his point but being in labor made her more affronted than usual at the finger to her lips. Perhaps it was undignified of the lady of a distinguished and resplendent estate, but she gave an abrupt and sharp bite to the end of the offending digit. He drew his hand sharply back, and she quirked an eyebrow in challenge to him.

“Don’t shush me.”

It was a different sort of reproach from the one she had given him hours prior, and he gave a bit of a chuckle in response as he shook out his _wounded_ extremity, “ _Yes ma’am_.”

Rey might have been able to think about how the tone of such a simple phrase sounded much more like a dark promise than agreement if only Leia had not swooped in, “ _Benjamin Solo_ , what were you _thinking_ not coming to fetch me at once?”

She had brought with her cloths and a basin of water, and was instantly getting to work around the room, while Ben clutched her hand just a bit harder and tried to defend himself, “I didn’t want to leave her alone.”

As she was rearranging something near the head of the bed, Leia darted out a hand and flicked her son’s head with a resounding _thump_ , “Rey is a grown woman and can stand to take care of herself for all of five minutes. How was sitting here helping anything, what do _you_ know about childbirth, hm?”

If it were not for his eyes on her and generally feeling like her child was trying to kick through her stomach, Rey might have let out a small snicker at his scolding from his mother. It was all rather domestic, which Rey secretly delighted in.

“At any rate, you would do better to wait outside until the ordeal is over,” at that, Ben’s eyes met Rey’s in clear panic and hesitance.

He seemed to be asking her permission for something, but Rey could not guess what for. On one side of the predicament, Rey rather liked having him hold her hand and try his best to cater to her needs. On the other, however, there was not a bone in Rey’s body that did not reject the image of him watching her vulnerable and crying through the process to come. She just was not ready to be weak in front him yet, so she nodded to the door and slipped her hand from his.

As he backed out of the room, his eyes did not leave hers, and she rather wondered if he looked as lost to Leia’s eyes as he did to hers.

The delivery was as painful and stressful as Rey had worked it into her mind that it would be. Leia had been diligent in keeping her calm without fussing over her, which she greatly appreciated. Nettie had been brought in to assist sometime around morning as she’d had much experience with childbirth and worked as an assistant to the doctor. In her typical and obnoxious fashion, she had asked Rey if she was ready to meet her _little boy_ before they had even started. Rey had gone into the ordeal with a naïve fear of having to reveal herself to a male doctor even if was in the clinical and practical sense, but by the time it came around to it, she was in too much pain and too eager to be done to worry about it.

In the end, to Nettie’s dismay, Leia placed a cleaned up and swaddled little girl into Rey’s exhausted arms. They had stripped the bed and given her a change of a clean nightgown, and Rey had been ready to sleep after missing out on the night of sleep in favor of painful stretching and pushing. Then Leia had brought over the bundle, and Rey valiantly rose to the occasion. There was not much to note quite yet on the question of which parent her daughter favored in features. Her eyes were still closed, and her cheeks were red with squalling, but she had the most precious buttoned nose and a tuft of black hair on her soft head. Rey thought she had never before seen something so beautiful. After a feeding, which Nettie assisted her with managing, the baby settled down into sleep, and Rey could only just stare in wonder.

As Leia was paying and thanking the doctor, Nettie clucked her tongue from beside her in what sounded of disapproval, “I worry for you, ma’am.”

Rey knitted her brows in confusion, “Why ever is that?”

Nettie sighed and pat the head of her daughter lightly, “She’s a beautiful, little girl, but men are not usually happy with wives who only give them daughters. I pray the master will be forgiving.”

An inkling of doubt wormed its way into Rey’s tired mind. Logically, Rey knew that Ben had never shown any signs of being a brutish husband—outside of the proposal arrangement—and Leia had assured her the night before that no such matters of lineage were likely to concern her son as he had formerly sworn them off. However, her body ached, her emotions were an exasperating mix of highs and lows, and she had not gotten any sleep since the day before. Could it not be possible that Ben had changed his mind after living in the estate and bought Rey’s hand in marriage to give himself an heir? Rey conceded that it could be. Months passed in memories of him always treating her with kindness and a quiet softness whenever they interacted—but then again, there had been the one time he had given her that venomous glare when she had asked about his father, so there was a cruel bone to be found in his body. Not to mention, Leia’s story of his childhood _had_ ended in a resentful son swearing revenge on the family he believed to have wronged him, and it was a crueler narrative than she had previously thought him capable of. The problem was not so much that Rey feared he would treat her with coldness if he did, but that he would resent their daughter. It was not in Rey’s ability to watch her child have a similar experience of growing up with an unsympathetic guardian.

In summary, the questions and concerns began to mount such in Rey’s tired and fragile body, and she tensed to the point that just as the room was clearing so that her husband could finally enter, Rey began to shake. Ben peered into the room and slowly approached her bedside, and with each step he took toward her, she shook a little harder.

He seemed to notice her shivering upon standing over her and their child, and his eyes filled with concern, “Are you alright?”

Rey did not answer his question directly but merely let her nervous words quietly and rapidly spill from her lips and she positioned the bundle for him to see, “We have a daughter,” his eyes wordlessly flickered down, and she hurried to give a rushed apology, “I apologize for not—for not giving you a son, but,” she swallowed harshly, “but I can do better next time.”

The look that crossed his face was an odd combination of confusion and distress and perhaps even hurt, but he did not acknowledge her words, “May I hold her?”

She willed her hands to stop shaking as she passed the bundle into his arms and anxiously awaited his reaction. There was not much of an expression on his face as he studied her at first. Then, as if he had stumbled upon some holy revelation, his cheeks stretched into a beaming grin, even revealing the crooked teeth she had been so enamored with the one other time she’d seen them. In all ways his face expressed delight as he looked at the face of their daughter, and to Rey’s astonishment, joyful tears streamed down his face one after another.

“She looks so much like you,” he whispered, an awestruck tone to his voice, and Rey thought it best not to mention that she could look just about like anyone if one squinted at her underdeveloped features.

For a long time, Ben stood above her, cradling their daughter to his chest so tightly—yet also delicately—that Rey mused he must have thought someone was going to take her away. Rey had experienced a similar emotion when she’d first held the infant. It was an emotion, she sympathized, that could not be captured with just one word. It felt like joy, with a pressure expanding the chest outward yet also an aching longing corrupting the heart. The longing gave a hypersensitive awareness of only the bundle in the arms and nothing outside of it, the sensation of a string being attached and pulling the child as close as possible to the heart, but never quite being able to fulfill the yearning pumping from the beating muscle. Rey studied Ben closely and knew he was feeling it too.

After a long period of time passed, Ben tore his eyes away from the child and settled on Rey who had not once stopped looking at him, still waiting for him to say something confirming (though his behavior had been certainly telling). Reluctance etched into the very way he moved, he stooped back down over her to place the bundle back in her arms. He did not pull away, however, he merely stood hunched over the bed staring into his daughter’s sleeping face. Then, with such tenderness and softness she had not even known him to possess, he pressed a gentle kiss to their little girl’s head, right on the black feathers of hair.

Ben pulled away slightly, but not entirely, to look earnestly into her eyes, “She’s beautiful. Thank you for bringing her into the world.”

Much the same way he had done for their child, he ducked and pressed a lingering and sweet kiss to her own head. The stress of the day and the tension brought on by Nettie’s words seeped out of her bones, unlocked by the warmth offered by the press of his lips to her skin. The uneasiness made its way out in the form of a wet sob as he kissed her, and she squeezed her eyes shut and covered her mouth, willing the unwanted reaction away.

All too soon it felt, he had pulled away, but he used the pad of his thumb to brush away the tears on her cheek closest to him. She breathed and felt control of her emotions moderate her senses once again, enough to look up at him and give a small smile. He unfurled then to his original height and took a step back, which almost sent Rey back into an emotional fit for a reason she could not fathom.

“You must be exhausted. I’ll leave the two of you to rest.”

“No!” Rey nearly shouted into the reticent room, thankful her voice had not woken the bundle, but she sniffled and boldly carried on, “You’ve only just met her, you can’t leave so soon.”

It seemed that he needed no further persuasion and must have been waiting for her to suggest it. A slight, sweet smile brushed his lips, and his shoulders sagged in relief. The chair he had sat in before the delivery was pushed back into the corner, and she scoffed when he went to pull it back over. He tensed and stopped, most likely positive that he was about to receive a scolding, but she only gave a watery laugh.

“That is nonsense, there’s plenty of room up here.”

To Ben’s commendation, he did not exactly say what it had been that he was thinking. Rey, however, could feel just what his thoughts were as he stared warily at the bed they laid on. She laughed again with a little more confidence.

“It’s been _cleaned_ ,” she teased.

A blush suffused his cheeks, but he did not question her, only slid his boots off his feet and padded softly to the other side of the bed. Rey could not help thinking that though she had seen significantly more of him the night of their consummation, she never thought he looked so bare to her as when he was treading around barefoot. The mattress dipped as he put pressure on the other side, and he crawled slowly to meet her. Not to her discomfort, but also not to her general comfort, he slowly slid behind where she was propped on pillows and wrapped his long arms both around her and also where she was cradling the baby. When she allowed herself to settle her head back against his shoulder, she found that it was, in fact, not so bad of a position.

“What’s this?” He queried in a teasing tone, “My wife allowing me into her bed? _Shocking_.”

Rey stiffened at the joke, not exactly appreciative of it and from the history it came from, and he hastened to rectify it, “I apologize, that was in bad taste. I meant no offense.”

She nodded in acknowledgment to his amends and eased herself back into the embrace. A flush rose to her cheeks as a question she had been wanting to ask for a long time sprung to her mind. The time seemed as good a time as any with the two of them behaving so civilly and the product of their marriage being cradled equally between the two of their arms.

“Why did you,” she paused and took a breath, “why did you never return? I mean to say—you never _tried again_ so to speak. After that night.”

It was his turn to become stiff behind her and he asked in his deep murmur, “Did you _wish_ for me to?”

“ _No_ ,” she hurried out, somewhat unkindly.

“That was why. If we were to ever engage in such an act again, it would be because you asked it of me.”

Before Rey could add anything to his heavy-laden statement ( _did_ he _want her to ask again?_ ), he spoke again with a more light-hearted tone, “We must be the luckiest marital couple. Conception on the very first try.”

Despite his attempt to divert her choice in topic, Rey remained steadfast and asked _the other_ pressing question she had been holding back, “Why did you marry me?”

She could not see his face, but the way he shifted slightly and the way his heart beat a little faster against her ear, she could tell he was nervous, “You were interesting.”

“Oh?” She encouraged him to elaborate.

“You—well—when I insulted you, you were the first woman I ever met to stand up for yourself in such a way. Very cleverly done, I might congratulate you now.”

“Thank you. Carry on.”

“You didn’t like me,” her eyebrows shot up at that, “Despite knowing how many pounds the estate brought in a year, you never made any attempt to flatter or cajole the person who had insulted you, and it was admirable.”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat, quiet to not wake the baby, and she pestered him, “Am I right in hearing that you married me because I _didn’t_ like you?”

Her head was jostled slightly as she could feel him chuckle against her lightly, “I suppose so. I suppose it also helped that you were perhaps the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.”

Rey flushed, and she was sure that he most likely was too; they really were not accustomed to complimenting each other, and she supposed she would have to become acclimated so as not to be a blushing fool every time _her husband_ insinuated she was pretty.

“How has that worked out for you thus far?”

Rey watched as his thumb, which rested on the baby’s covered arm, just barely caressed along the fabric, and his voice was thick with some indiscernible emotion, “It was thorny to begin with, but I confess that I am not displeased with the outcome.”

Another kiss, not quite so emotional, was pressed to her scalp, and he whispered, “Rest now.”

She had to admit to herself that his torso was no wholly uncomfortable to sink into, and his arms wrapping around her arms like a second layer of protection for their child made her feel secure. Her eyes droop closed, and she complied with his soft command.

* * *

Rey noticed several things at once. One, her husband was still with her and was petting her hair and whispering something that sounded soothing. The other was that their daughter was no longer in their arms. Her heart was beating quickly, and she could just barely register the cusp of the dream she had been having before realizing it had not been a dream at all. She shut her eyes again and breathed in deep. The nightmares had been more frequent earlier in her marriage, and she had almost forgotten that she had any at all.

“Where did she go?” Rey made to sit up but realized her escape was blocked by two rather large arms caging her against a rather large chest.

He gently stroked her hair, and she was too tired to fight against how comfortable she was, “My mother came in an hour or so ago and took her to bed.”

Several minutes passed where she nearly fell back asleep if not for him softly whispering, “What do you dream about?”

A derisive puff of air blew past her lips, “I do not dream.”

“What do you not-dream about?”

Rey was tired and comfortable and warm and possibly for the first time in her life, she felt safe. She did not have it within her to be insincere and not wholly honest with the person behind her.

“I dream about my parents, but I don’t actually know what they look like. They have no faces when I see them, and it frightens me,” she took a shuddering breath, “and each time, they hand me off to strangers.”

“Strangers?” He murmured behind her.

“I don’t know if Plutt was my uncle or not. I just always called him that because it was better than facing the truth, I believe. The truth was that when I asked what they looked like; he could not ever tell me. Not a single detail.”

He did not speak, he seemed to know she needed to air her grievances to an attentive audience. All his response was to her sad tale was a hand pressed against her hip and his thumb rubbing a soothing circle into it.

“Sometimes I dream about being hungry.”

“Hungry? I wasn’t aware the man was wanting for anything.”

Rey smiled sadly though he could not see her, “He wasn’t, but he was a stingy and spiteful man—is still, I am sure. It could have been something I said or did not do around the small estate, and my meals would go to the dog. Mostly when I was younger—then the dog died and then he realized he could give me off easier if I did not look like bones. My situation improved, in the end.”

It seemed that his arms circled around her tighter, and her sleep addled mind suddenly realized her situation. Not only had they been wrapped together hours before, but they still were even without their daughter—who was seeming to be the common denominator in their marriage. The most shocking fact she realized was that she enjoyed it.

She had not noticed that the room had long fallen silent until he spoke again, “Do you still carry those fears with you here?”

“If my response were to be ‘yes,’ what would be your feelings?”

“I would make it my mission that you would never go hungry again.”

“And the strangers?”

Rey could feel him take a deep, shuddering breath behind her, “I know that you married me a stranger, but I hope that we are strangers no longer,” he paused as if to allow her the chance to give her input, but when she remained silent, he added, “and I swear never to forsake you or abandon you.”

She could feel her eyes warming and welling with hot tears, but she was smiling, “Thank you.”

“Do not give me thanks for such a thing. It is what all spouses should promise and do,” he took another pause like before, but she could feel his heart beating quicker, and she knew he was nervous, “or friends.”

Rey turned in his embrace and faced him, ignoring the twinges of soreness at the movement and smiled, “We could certainly be friendly.”

The day before crossed her mind where she had not been so friendly. The truth of the matter was that she had considered him a friend for months, and it was a shame to her that she had instilled in him the belief that that had not been the case. A frown moved its way across her face, and though in the dark, she could see the telltale slivers of concern on her husband’s. No doubt, she thought dejectedly, he thought her frown was his fault somehow, which was not the case. Her hand reached up to brush a messy, black lock of hair from his eye.

“I was wrong to be so harsh with you the day before. I understand you were only attempting to be helpful.”

All he gave in recognition to her apology was a small smile and a shake of his head, which gave her the floor once again, “Now, as a friend, what do you not-dream of, Ben?”

“How did you know?”

“You roam the halls at a precise time each night. That, I recall from experience, is a harbinger of a troubled mind. It must have been very difficult for you when you were bedridden with your leg, I am sure.”

His smile was sad somehow, “I offer my congratulations on your perceptiveness.”

“You are dodging my question.”

Ben made to press a kiss to her head, but she gently grasped the collar of his shirt so she could firmly—yet kindly—look him in the eye, “One sliver of information about you is all I ask. I have shared my troubles with the night, and it is your turn.”

“Only one?” He asked in confirmation, sounding very much like a man caving into the whims of his wife.

“One,” she whispered with a hint of simpering.

“I,” he began rather reluctantly, “was in the Royal Navy.”

A sea (a rather clever choice of words) of possibility opened up before Rey’s eyes and she was confounded by this sliver of information, “What was your rank?”

“You promised only one.”

Rey could see he was tooling with her and laughed and lightly hit his shoulder, “Ben!”

He propped his head on his hand, smirk still taunting her, but ceded the information she wished to know, “I was a lieutenant.”

The night of the great storm crossed her mind, and her mood shifted just slightly as she thought of the tales some sailors would say of the storms at sea being the most fearsome, “Is that the reasoning behind your uneasiness in storms?”

He nodded morosely; the teasing smirk having slipped off his visage.

“What about when there are not any storms?”

She allowed him to dodge the question then by kissing her forehead, and he whispered, “One day, you will know everything. Today is too happy of a day.”

The conversation had found its conclusion, so Rey turned back around with her back to him where she had been the most comfortable. His arms were still by his sides, and she wondered if he thought he had upset her by not telling her all she wanted to know, so she purposefully pushed herself back into his warmth. To her contentment, his arms resumed the positions they had been in when she had first awoken, and the situation made it all too effortless to drift back into sleep.

* * *

Upon waking the next day, Ben was no longer in bed with her, but the blankets had been tucked around her. A movement by the window caught her eye, and she watched with delight as Ben was stood there, holding their daughter to the sunlight. Rey reflected that she was perhaps entering a hopeful stage in her marriage at last.


	7. The Nameless Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Solos struggle to name their newest acquisition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas! Sorry to return with a very short chapter, but I am still simultaneously recovering from wisdom teeth extraction and also The Rise of Skywalker (which hurt a lot worse than my swollen jaw and bleeding gums, as I'm sure all of us who have seen it can attest, I am Big Mad and Big Sad). Alas, this is our last chapter of softness before delving into some Darkness, which, with TRoS being so close, is rather unfortunate. But, if TRoS broke your fucking heart like mine, here's some Soft Dad Ben Solo for healing reasons. :)))

With the arrival of one came the departure of another member of Rey’s tentative new family. The family were stood before the estate home opposite of Poe Dameron with his carriage several paces behind his smiling face waiting to carry him off. It had been five months since he had arrived for what he had claimed would be ‘a few days.’ Rey—and it seemed the others as well—had not minded his overstaying a bit, and they were all sad to see him go in their own ways. When he had remarked that he was leaving at long last, Rey had joked that he really should not ‘hurry off,’ but he had patiently chuckled and told her it would be good for her to only have to worry about _one_ child in the home.

Though the two had been friends for some time, it was still a surprise to all—including Ben, if Rey could tell anything from the way his eyes widened and huff of breath was forced from his lungs—that Poe pulled him into a brotherly and perfectly undignified embrace. It was a soft moment, Rey watched as, _no_ , her husband did _not_ melt into his closest friend’s clutches, but he did manage a fond smile over his shoulder, and a loose arm managed to give an inelegant and awkward pat to his back. Affection did not seem to come easily to him, but Rey could see the effort made.

“You are welcome anytime,” was his calm and sincere goodbye to his old friend.

Poe gave him a congenial slap to his shoulder after pulling apart before going to stand before Leia. The two had become rather good partners in crime when it came to wisecracking at the sake of their rather serious companion and son (respectively). What had begun with a hearty laugh over Ben’s walking attempt disaster had turned into good-natured veiled jokes over dinner about his natural scowled expression and general lack of merriment. Upon first meeting their daughter—wailing and red-faced she had been at the time—Poe had happily declared that she had inherited Ben’s frown. Leia and Rey had been amused, Ben and the baby had not.

Much like the mother she is, Leia pulled the man who was not her son into a chaste hug before pinching his cheek with a wicked glint in her eye, “I have enjoyed your company, young man. You favor your mother in many ways,” her eyes shone with mischief, and she lowered her voice, “be sure to pay that farm boy a visit on your way out.”

Were it not for the sensitive topic from which it stemmed, Rey would have ruthlessly poked fun of the blush staining his cheeks as he ducked away from Leia’s watchful gaze. Poe Dameron _bashful_ —it was simply unheard of.

In his parting from her, Poe gave her a brief kiss to the cheek and bent down over the curious-eyed bundle in her arms, “The two of you really must get a move on in naming _my niece_. Now all I can say in parting is good-bye _baby_.”

Rey’s eyes snapped to her husband’s, knowing he sported the same exasperated look.

* * *

“Jane.”

“A dime a dozen,” Rey sighed.

“Marguerite.”

“Too French,” Leia wrinkled her nose.

Rey, Ben, and Leia had walked into the nursery and stood over the little girl with the utmost confidence that, between the three of them, they would be able to find a name to stick. That had been an hour prior, and no such luck had proven their now ever waning belief.

Leia tutted and crossed her arms, “I really had thought the name would come to us when she had her gifts with her.”

Rey’s unnamed daughter blinked up at her from beneath her yellow hat, yellow socks, and yellow blanket that had all been bestowed and bedecked on her for inspiration. To no avail, it all seemed.

“Mary, Catherine, Abigail, Judith,” Ben listed off each name with an increasing air of frustration as each name refused to latch itself to the four-week-old child.

“Why the Catholic names, I must ask?” Leia looked up at her much taller son.

“Well,” he scratched his head with one hand and gestured widely with the other, clueing Rey to the fact that he was largely uncomfortable with the topic of conversation, “she will be christened eventually,” the last part had the lilt of a question, though Rey could tell he had not meant it to be.

“Why not a good Hebrew name?” Leia’s tone was bordering on accusatory.

His arms were flung wide, palms open, and seeking and scrabbling for answers, stammering his way through his own, “We are not true followers of the Jewish faith,” again the unintentional question at the end of his sentence.

Leia quipped with practiced ease, “Yes, of course, _Benjamin_ , my _son of the right hand_.”

Rey was captivated by the sudden topic of shared religion and ancestry—something she had never been privy to in her former life—and rushed to join, “What faith _do_ we belong to, I have been wondering? My guardian never dared show his face in a place of worship until our wedding, and we still have yet—in nearly ten months—to darken the door of one as well. I _have_ entertained the concept of baptism, but I am,” she caught her husband’s vexed stare and faltered but continued, “open for discussion.”

A beat of silence and incessant, pressing stares at Ben from all eyes—even his daughter seemed to be staring with expectation, nameless though she was. His arms, previously outstretched, drooped in defeat, and he marched out of room, all stooped shoulders and frustrated muttering. Rey and Leia’s eyes met in the stillness that followed. A crack in her mother-in-law’s façade and they were both doubled over, grasping at the crib’s sides to bolster them in their laughter. Leia, still grinning in unbridled mirth, reached to lift the baby from her bed.

Speaking to Rey, Leia commented, “Let us pray she does not inherit her father’s temperament,” she then spoke directly to the baby and pressed her nose to the smaller one, “Do not fret, little one. A name will present itself soon enough.”

* * *

Within fourteen weeks of life, a name had, indeed, _not_ presented itself. However, all members of the family had acclimated to simply referring to her as ‘the baby,’ and they still garnered hope that a name would come to them eventually. Rey watched as the new addition brought change to the daily lives of the inhabitants of the estate. Slowly, everyone’s schedules changed to accommodate the baby, and it was pleasant to observe.

Rey found herself waking earlier than usual to make sure the baby was fed and well-tended to before she could start the day for herself. The silent moments in the morning with her daughter were unparalleled in such that they gave Rey a sense of peace and purpose within the large home that simply had not existed prior to the baby’s arrival. She would have to reluctantly tear herself from these shining moments when Nettie would find her in the nursery and hint without ceasing that it was of her opinion that Rey should be making use of a wet nurse. It was with no small amount of guilt that when Nettie’s younger sister appeared in her place because Nettie had fallen ill, it was something of a reprieve.

It became something of a routine for Rey to take the baby on a ride through the surrounding farmland. On occasion she would stop and visit Finn. Upon the first meeting between the tenant and the little girl from the estate home, Rey had beamed as Finn had given her a gentle smile and assured her that she had a beautiful child. Part of the routine became ending wherever it was that Ben happened to be helping out on that day and coaxing him into letting himself take a ride back with them to the house. After some time, there was no coaxing necessary. Ben would hear the phaeton roll up the road, and Rey would watch as his posture would straighten from whatever labor he had bent himself into. His head would turn to face them, dark eyes squinting in the sun, and the line of his perpetual frown softened just for his wife and child.

The two would patiently wait for him to finish his work before he would trudge with heavy, mud-laden steps and a cautious yet tender look in his eyes. Oftentimes he refused to hold their daughter on the account that he did not want to dirty her from his Earth-stained hands and clothes. However, he rarely would allow his gaze to be detracted from the small bundle, and oddly enough, Rey would notice that if she was awake, the girl had only eyes for her father.

Leia took to entertaining her granddaughter during afternoon tea. Teacup, saucer, and biscuits set aside, the tiny cherub with sprouts of black hair and a toothless grin was far more captivating. Her old and weathered hands would hold her under her arms and gingerly bounce her on her lap to the sheer delight of the infant. After some time, Leia would speak in exclamations and nonsensical babbling which, for any other wealthy, old woman, would be entirely indecorous of her position. Instead, the love for her grandchild shone like a beacon in her aged eyes as she pinched her cheeks and laughed. Furtive glances and secret smiles were exchanged across the room between the parents of the child.

It had always been a part of Ben’s schedule to seclude himself in his dark office to read through his estate business papers (how many papers were necessary to be read, Rey was still at a loss), but even this made a change in the weeks that followed him becoming a father. Rey had discovered his covert habit by chance. Upon hearing a shuffling in the nursery as she walked by, she peered in with the utmost attention to stealth and spotted him sitting against the wall with his papers and a slate in his lap. She watched with a bemused expression as he snuck glances at his sleeping daughter between signing off on things and reading paragraphs on updates.

It became a habit to her then, to observe him in silence each day. The best days were when the baby would stir and begin to cry and he would scatter his materials to the side and jump to his feet, his attention entirely devoted elsewhere. It was endearing how his tall, hulking form hunched in on itself to amuse his impossibly small daughter into silence. Though his smiles in all other situations were brief and scarce, in the presence of his child, they were consistent and warmly vibrant. His best tactic for putting her to sleep, however, was to stand over her with one finger snared in her chubby fist and in the other hand one of his estate papers. The words he read aloud were hardly of importance or interest to a baby, of course, but his soft, baritone droll like a gentle hum over the room was more effective than any lullaby.

It was fair that she watched him in this way as he did his own fair share of watching her. Rey was not sure if he thought he was being stealthy or not as she was always fully aware of his towering form in the doorway, but he never spoke or actually crossed the threshold of the room. It was consistently when she had just settled in to feeding the baby, but not until _after_ she had sat in the creaking rocking chair in the corner and used the small, yellow knit blanket as a cover. She rocked in the chair with the light of the outside pouring around her shoulders from the window behind her, staring with an unfocused, pensive expression at her covered child, and pretended she did not see him. It was almost a game to her to see how long she could go without acknowledging him before he found the courage to join them inside the room.

Eventually, he found the courage, but only just, when he uttered a blunt and uncharacteristically inelegantly phrased, “How does it work?”

Amused, she peeked up at him through her lashes to see his face turning a dark hue, and he hastened to stammer a correction, “I mean to say—I know _how_ , functionally,” he muttered a curse under his breath, and the shock of it nearly startled a laugh from her, “but do women always have the ability to,” he seemed to sense the depth of her efforts to keep from laughing at him and moved to turn away, “Forgive me, I am behaving improperly.”

Rey’s laughter could not be contained, and she exclaimed to keep him from fleeing altogether, “Improperly— _Ben_ —we’re _married_!”

He was several steps from the doorway and half-shrouded in the waning light of the hallway which did not manage to shield how scarlet his cheeks had turned, “Yes, but—”

With as much grace as Rey could muster, she interrupted whatever counter he had been about to say, “Really, it’s alright for you to be curious, and, no, women do not always have the ability. It’s special for the baby.”

Ben nodded faster than was necessary and fled even faster, much to Rey’s delight.

She chuckled and snuck a peek at her daughter beneath the yellow blanket, “Your father is _very_ funny.”

Inside her own head, Rey remarked how _funny_ it was to be married to him. At the beginning of their marriage, she regarded him as a pompous, incomprehensible _arse_ who could not see people beyond their price. How _funny_ to have just learned that the haughty arse in question was too afraid to ask about _breasts._ Rey continued to chuckle to herself over the altercation until the baby spluttered and pulled away. As she put the baby back into the crib for a late afternoon nap, a servant popped in and inquired if she was in want of anything.

“No, thank you,” the servant nodded and made to leave but she continued, “I feel as if I have not seen you before. Are you new to the staff?”

The slight girl, most likely no older than sixteen, flushed and ducked her head, “Yes, ma’am, only temporary though. A friend of mine took ill the day before. Something to do with the fever making its way across town.”

Rey nodded and dismissed her with a considerate smile.


	8. The Week of Scarlet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fever makes its debut and so does Maz Kanata.

It was after dinner and only Rey and Ben were left awake in the drawing room. Leia had gone to bed early on an account of abnormal exhaustion, and Rey was feeling much the same as she was curled up into the side of the sofa, slippers slipped off her feet. The evenings had begun to be spent in a lazy manner as such, sitting in amicable silence as candles became the greatest source of light with the setting of the sun. Ben was across from her in the armchair with one elbow on the upholstery to prop his chin on his slack hand while the other was holding a book, his fingers spread like long webs across the spine. The longer the shadows of evening grew, the more his arm propped his cheek rather than his chin as he sank into the chair and the more the book was allowed to droop into his lap. Rey yawned and stretched her arms over her head, the movement seeming to distract him from the book (the book he had yet to turn a page in in over half an hour).

“Is the baby asleep, do you think?” Rey asked with sleepiness dripping off every syllable.

He nodded and seemed to wake just in the slightest as a petulant frown deepened the shadows over his face, though she knew it to stem from the endearing sort of frustration that he often sported in recent months, “Three months old, and we still cannot call her anything but _the baby_.”

Rey chuckled—as that was all to be done when three adults could not decide on a fitting name for a child for three months—and his frown seemed to ease, settling into a pout. He made an attempt to sit a bit straighter, she watched with amusement, and even went as far as to turn a page in his book before his eyes began to shift to her watchful ones as opposed to shifting across the words on the page. Sighing, he closed the book—a lost cause, really—and settled so that his cheekbone (she steadfastly ignored how defined his sharper features were in the darkening room) was supported by a loose fist. His dark eyes made nearly black in the shadows blinked lazily at her from his seat.

“When should we have the christening?”

Gamely, Rey cupped her cheek and curled further into the side of the sofa, “ _Are_ we having a christening?”

It had been some time since she had made any sort of quip to him in conversation, and his lips seemed to part in surprise then snapped closed then parted _again_ for him to ask with apprehension, “Are you not a follower of Christ?”

“Despite my loose foundations, yes, however,” she smiled sweetly and bent her wrist to tilt her head, “would it not be more meaningful if she were to choose for herself to follow as well? A conscious decision over a tradition I find more compelling, do not you agree?”

“And if she decides not to choose?” His eyebrows were laced in concern it seemed for their daughter’s apparent future crisis in faith, which Rey found rather touching.

Her smile was lighthearted, “Then, in that case, I am sure a sprinkle of water over her head as a baby would make very little difference in the eyes of God. We would have to start _actually_ praying, I believe.”

Ben laughed as if it was startled out of him as it very well may have been given his languid reactions, but he descended easily back into solemnity, “Prayer may be a welcome and necessary step in the weeks to come with the arrival of the fever in the county.”

Thinking of Nettie, who still had not returned to work in nearly two weeks, Rey’s easy smile slipped with guilt, “Is it really so serious as you make it sound?”

“I believe so,” he murmured, “Many of the tenants have fallen ill as well as the servants of the house—as I am sure has not escaped your notice. You may want to exercise caution in visiting the village.”

She shrugged, “That should not be an issue. I have yet to leave the estate as it is, and I am sure I can postpone adventuring.”

A look washed across Ben’s pensive features resembling hurt and frustration though neither were leveled with her she could tell, “Well,” he began in his usual soft, dulcet tones, “that is a shame. I shall make it my goal to take you as soon as the fever has subsided.”

A small smile was flashed his way, “That would be nice.”

* * *

Within a week, the fever sweeping the county was no longer a sleepy subject discussed in the calm hours before night. Rey could see it in the ever-rotating staff and keenly in her husband’s sudden bouts of paranoia. After the third or fourth letter Ben received from the families of the sick members of staff, he sent everyone home until further notice, leaving the large house eerily silent and empty. Leia took to cooking the meals, and Rey helped, otherwise there was little change as Rey had long been accustomed to caring for herself before. Ben’s agitation with the fever grew the more letters he received from families, and Rey could often count on him standing over their daughter’s crib in the nursery. His expression always seemed so clinical as his hands would wander and his eyes would search, and Rey knew him to be constantly checking for any signs of contraction. After his searches concluded blessedly empty-handed, he would cradle her against his chest even if she had been sleeping—which was not often to the delight of the infant, but she would eventually cease her crying with her small head pillowed on her father’s shoulder. Ben whispered often in the nursery, and when he was not looking at the baby, he was looking at the ceiling, but Rey rather thought he was looking at where he expected God to be.

Rey and Leia, on the other hand, refused to be brought into his neurosis, and did their bests to continue life as usual—without the servants. They made a good time of cooking meals in the kitchen (which Rey had only been to all of one time), and Rey learned that Leia was, in fact, quite the cook for such a wealthy woman. To her continued surprise, Leia revealed that she had also taught her son to cook in the same kitchens when he was a boy, though she doubted that he would ever deign to repeat his lessons. Rey stirred over a fire to daydreams of a smaller Ben rolling out dough with the pin in too small hands which then morphed to dreams of an older Ben standing over a girl with dark hair and teaching her to do the same.

The family sat down to a modest but nonetheless tasty meal in a tense silence. Ben’s brooding mood for the past week was palpable in the air and choked any sort of conversation Leia attempted to strike up. His eyes met no one’s and there was a strain in the way he even held his spoon, the tendons of his large hand popping underneath his skin as he brought steaming soup to his lips. Moreover, when the said soup inevitably reached his lips, he did not even attempt to cool it but rather rushed it into his mouth with a bull-headed stubbornness, wincing as an afterthought.

Rey laid a concerned hand over his when it was lowered to the table again, “Ben, are you unwell?”

Without looking at her or acknowledging her statement, he tersely replied, “I received another letter earlier today.”

With her other hand, she plucked his spoon from his fingers so that she could close her hand over his, and he gave a brief glimpse in her direction for it, “What were the contents?”

“Another one of my tenants have been affected by the fever. They had a child not yet three that passed in the night. Their other child, five years of age, I believe, was left blind.”

Her hand gave a firm, reassuring squeeze even as a shudder ran down her spine, “My prayers go out to them.”

Deafening silence followed in which Ben made no move to respond. Rey looked between Leia’s knowing expression and the dark circles under Ben’s eyes. _Have you not been sleeping_ , Rey wanted to ask him but thought better of it. Silence ensued further until it was cut through by a sharp cry from up the stairs, clearly recognizably her daughter’s. In an instant, Ben seemed to hurl himself from the room, ripping his hand away from hers so violently it almost felt like stitches being torn from her skin.

“Ben, dear, it is a baby’s nature to cry, maintain _some_ sense of calm—oh, dear,” Leia tutted in the wake of her son’s departure, the thuds of his boots on the stairs filling the air between she and Rey.

It wasn’t long before Rey scrambled from the room in pursuit, not missing Leia’s defeated sigh. The baby’s crying increased in volume with each step that she ascended to the upper level of the home, and Rey’s previously optimistic heart twisted in sympathy and something else. Once she reached the nursery, she hovered at the threshold for a moment, fingertips lightly brushing the wooden panel of the door. Ben’s face was stricken as he looked into the crib with one arm reached into it, the baby hidden from view by the wooden bars.

“I did everything right,” he whispered—to whom the words were uttered she was not sure, “I do not understand.”

With cautious steps, she approached the crib containing the wailing infant—and when she listened to its cries, there _was_ something wrong with them. They were laced with a thickness as if being forced out and the intakes of breath in between were more frantic and panicked as if the little girl could comprehend in her developing mind that something quite grave was afoot. Sure enough, when Rey’s light footsteps brought her to stand over the crib, she gave a weak cross between a whimper and a gasp. Ben’s fingers were still outstretched, just pulling away the swaddle to expose a scarlet rash spreading from beneath her small arms and upwards to the soft, delicate skin of her neck. Rey’s fingers shakily grasped at Ben’s elbow and pulled at his sleeve.

“The rash comes two to three days _after_ the illness sets in. How could I not notice—”

“Ben,” Rey interjected with a sternness that felt not her own, “ride to town and fetch the doctor.”

As if she had cracked a whip at his back, he instantly set upon his new task, but not without sparing the crib one last devastated look that gave the feeling that he was being forced out against his will. On his way out, he passed Leia on her way in, who saw for herself the reason for the young parents’ panic. It was as if Rey was watching the same scene as when she had gone into labor but as opposed to it being a matter of life, it was a matter of the possibility of death—something that Rey simply could not fathom. Leia burst into action much like before and gave Rey, confidence waning, strict instructions and advice on how to temper the fever.

Lucky, then, that Leia had given her explicit instruction as not even an hour had passed before the older woman leaned heavily against the doorframe and began coughing in earnest. Rey could hear her old lungs rattle as she gulped for air upon finishing the attack. The assault on her breathing left Leia looking worse for wear and uncharacteristically rattled. There was none that Rey could compare Leia’s air of nobility to, which made the tired lines beneath her eyes unnerving. She thought about how Leia had been more tired as of late and continually retired for bed earlier.

“Leia?”

“My dear,” she leaned against the wall, “I believe that is not so good a sign.”

With reluctance, Rey laid her wailing daughter back into her crib, “Let me walk you to your room.”

The older woman closed her eyes and nodded once, twice to be sure, and allowed herself to lean on Rey for support. Rey had never before seen her mother-in-law show weakness in anyone’s presence, and her sudden sharp decline in health was visible with stark clarity. Not a word was uttered as she ushered and supported Leia down the hall and helped her into her bed. Rey hesitated and hovered over Leia’s shoulder, unsure what to do about her elegant dress or what her preference for it would be. Instead, Leia gave her a pained smile and shook her head.

“Go see to my granddaughter. This part I can handle alone.”

Another hour passed without Ben’s return and Rey was becoming more anxious by the second. Her baby’s fever refused to ease, and she never stopped crying her small heart out for one second except for when she took small and panicked breaths in between. Leia, once she settled herself into her bed, continued having bouts of gratuitous and ruinous coughing and her fever began to rise steadily. Between the nursery and Leia’s room, Rey was torn. The minute she would settle herself into rocking her daughter back and forth to comfort her as best she could, Leia’s choking coughs would crack through the air, and Rey would rush to her aid. The moment the coughs would die down enough for Leia to catch her breath, her daughter would issue a particularly piercing and bone-chilling cry that would have her racing from the room. There was not a moment of pause or breathing, and Rey’s spirit was beginning to crack.

On her way to check on Leia, who had been silent for more than five minutes, an unwanted thought niggled its way into Rey’s brain and halted her in the middle of the hallway. _Where is Ben_ , she woefully pondered. In an instant her mind leapt to how quickly her baby and Leia had taken ill, how they had probably already been infected for several days before presenting symptoms. All it had taken to incapacitate Leia was a series of bone-rattling fits, and though she was older, it had descended upon her with an aggressive quickness. Perhaps he had taken ill as well and never made it to town at all. Unsought visions of Ben sliding off his horse with no one to come to his aid played in her mind over and over, and Rey did not notice how spiked her heart rate was or how short her breaths had become. He could have been suffering in a ditch all alone, and she would not have known and would also have sent him to it. Wherever he was, their baby was crying, and his mother was coughing again, and Rey needed a doctor to provide the care she could not and could not leave her two family members to go find the other should Ben not return.

Her knees hit the floor with a bruising impact and jarred her into realizing that she was openly panting. With the realization came the understanding that her throat was closing, and her lungs were shaking. She did not understand what was happening to her. By all accounts, she was certainly breathing, but no amount of air gulped into her quivering lungs gave her the satisfaction of breathing. She was _suffocating_. Scrabbling and clawing out with fear, her hands gripped her skirts as she dutifully tried to breathe in _more_ — _more would certainly fix it, yes, more air._ Her body was exhausted it seemed and darkness tinted the edges of her vision as the urge to sleep settled into the very marrow of her bones. _Sleep would fix it._

She wasn’t sure, but it seemed that there was thunder past all the roaring in her ears, and she prayed that Ben was not caught in a storm—but no, it wasn’t thunder at all. The sound grew louder, and still she struggled for air and fought against sleep, when loud thumping footsteps nearly raced right past her crouched form. In her blurry vision, she saw black boots skid to a stop just beside her before the toes pointed her way. The boots disappeared as knees sunk to the floor and then it was all Ben—all she could see was him, blurry and unfocused but undeniably the only thing her dark and tunneled eyes could latch onto in the waking world.

“I believe she has caught the fever,” words that sounded like his floated through her ears, but with all the blurriness, she had not seen his lips move.

He moved to the side and suddenly he no longer took up her entire world, and it must have been the fever as he said because she had half a mind to _protest_ his disappearance. Two hands, small enough that they were definitively not her husband’s, gripped the side of her face and she was forced to look into someone else’s eyes. They were large, old, and unrecognizable eyes. _A woman,_ Rey’s brain helpfully supplied between heaving gasps, _an ancient woman._ The ancient woman in question was crossed with wrinkles and age lines and yet the darkness of her skin belied the existence of such things unless one was looking very closely—and Rey was, nose nearly touching hers.

“She is not ill, only very afraid,” a shift in the woman’s tone made Rey dimly aware that she was addressing her, “breathe, dear child. _Slower_.”

Rey very nearly lurched away in panic. _Breathe slower_ , she thought with the highest level of skepticism, not when it felt like she desperately needed to breathe _more._ A wrinkled hand left her cheek and flattened against her heaving chest, much to Rey’s trepidation. The small palm pressed against the rise of her chest with her gulping breaths and forced her to take a slower, deeper breath. Her chest felt as if she had been battered, and her lungs gave great shudders of exhaustion that wracked her hunched form. Eventually, however, under the curious woman’s careful instruction, the slow breaths dragged real air back into her blood and relief flooded her dizzied brain. Her mind returned to her along with coherent thought and rationale. Ben had returned, but she did not see the doctor.

Struggling to her feet on coltish legs, she eyed the tiny woman with caution, “Where is the doctor?”

Ben looked miserable as he spoke, “He was too busy in town with other patients. She was the next best to be found.”

The woman, coming up no higher than his waist, smacked his knee in offense, “ _Next best_ , why, _Benjamin Solo_ I was the one who brought you into this world and kept you from _strangling yourself_ on your mother’s cord. I believe I deserve a shred more credit than _next best_.”

“You are a midwife?” Rey spluttered in astonishment.

“I am Maz, among other things,” her ancient eyes twinkled—and she really _must_ have been ancient considering her apparent involvement in the delivery of Rey’s husband some thirty years prior.

Their daughter gave a sharp and painful cry louder than the ongoing ones, and Ben went to run to the nursery before she halted him with a hand to his chest, “Your mother has fallen ill while you were gone. Go to her.”

His face would have looked less stricken if she had slapped him, and he seemed to only just then be able to hear her emphatic coughing from down the hall. A stilted nod and his punctuated steps in a dutiful line to his mother was all she received in reply. It occurred to Rey for a mere second that though his relationship with Leia had been fraught from his youth and even so affected how he interacted with her well into his adulthood, he was still just a boy who loved his mother. She led Maz to her daughter.

* * *

Several hours passed where Maz flitted between the two rooms. Rey stayed close to her daughter, and Ben stayed close to his mother, the two staying just out of each other’s orbit. Under Maz’s attentions and the cloak of night, her baby fell into a fitful sleep at last, and Maz told her to allow her to sleep for a while. Rey decided to check on her mother-in-law’s progress and padded down the hallway, bones aching from standing and hunching for so many hours.

Entering the room, her spirits fell upon seeing Leia looking worse than she had the last time Rey had seen her. Her eyes were dimmer and the circles around them had become pronounced. There was no longer mistaking the cause of her ailment as her cheeks had become flushed and heated and ended in a pale ring around her cracked and dried lips. Ben was sat at his mother’s side holding one of her hands and speaking to her in low, hushed tones which ceased as Rey made her appearance. Tension was ripe in the air, and she could not help but feel guilty that she had intruded on something. All the same, Ben’s eyes met hers with a gravity that was telling a story she did not understand, and Leia just smiled up at her as though she had made her entire night by visiting her on her sickbed. Rey swallowed a lump in her throat.

“How is she?” Ben’s voice was pleading and full of fear, and there was no question of who the ‘she’ was.

“Resting for now.”

“May I see her?”

What he was asking was to switch rooms for some time, and her expression softened, “Of course. I can stay here, you go.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to his mother’s hand that he had been holding and let it slip from his grasp as he stood to his feet and—almost fell over. Rey watched in long seconds as he stood too fast, blood draining from his face and knees wobbling underneath him. As quickly as it began, color resurfaced to his cheeks, and he found his footing but remained where her concerned gaze pinned him. Upon first glance, his bout of dizziness had been just that—a bout—until she realized that the color on his cheeks was a furious scarlet that she had not previously noted in the dim candlelight. Sweat was running down the sides of his face too, and his lips were a pale, sickly pallor.

“ _Ben_ ,” she whispered to the night air, horrified.

He seemed confused and pressed a hand to his temple as if he were staving off a headache, eyes squinting and reopening rapidly, “That was—I am not sure what that was,” a deep breath broadened his chest and shook it upon the tremulous exhale, “I am fine. I must be.”

“You are _not_ fine,” Leia managed to croak before falling into another fit of hacking.

Maz’s light footsteps bustled inside and halted upon seeing Ben Solo swaying over his mother’s sickbed, and her withered lips pressed together in displeasure, “Get him to his room, dear.”

Ben continued to insist just how _fine_ he was until Rey tugged on his arm and he all but stumbled into her. The several steps it took him to reach the hallway had him breathing deeper and swaying dangerously. What had begun as Rey leading him to where he needed to go very quickly descended into all but carrying him. His arm was slung over her shoulders, and her arms were holding him upright by wrapping around his waist—her whole body thrown into keeping him from keeling over. The issue was that his room was infinitely farther from Leia’s room and the nursery than hers was. They came to stand before her door for a moment, and Rey contemplated the added distance to his room several doors down as the muscles in her legs started to shake with the effort of rendering him standing.

“In here,” she all but shoved him through her doorway.

“But this is—”

“I have a distinct feeling I will not get much sleep, so it is of little importance to me,” she said in something of an admonishing tone as she sat him on her bed.

Rey paused and took in his image, chest shuddering and sweat rolling off the ends of his hair. His dark eyes settled on hers and they looked neither here nor there, neither present nor absent—a listless expression yet a strength and defiance in the face of weakness. She shook off his gaze and bent to lift each off his legs and yank off a boot, uncaring of the crusted mud that crumbled off the leather and against her hands in the process. Wiping her hands on her skirts, she stepped between his knees to untie his cravat, apologizing as her shaking hand managed to chuck his chin by accident. She then moved further down to unbutton his waistcoat, stoically not thinking about how when he breathed her knuckles pressed against his abdomen in a ghost of a touch. Waistcoat peeled off, still standing between his knees, and him looking up at her from where he leaned back heavily on his arms, Rey weighed her options. The shirt, alas, had to go.

Without preamble, she bunched her hands in the fabric at his hips and yanked the material from where it had been tucked into his breeches. Even through the haze of fever, Ben managed to all but jump in surprise, but had little time to ponder it as Rey was manipulating his arms to pull it over his head as if he were nothing but a marionette. She gasped at the sight of his bared chest covered in the scarlet sandpaper rash. It had begun where it normally would, underneath his arms, but it had already aggressively managed to conquer most of his torso. The rash had advanced more than the other two household patients’ had, and Rey’s eyes burned.

Her shaky fingertips ran lightly over his chest to feel the dry and scratchy rash that she knew was not painful to him but looked painful even so, “How long have you been hiding this?”

Ben gave no reply, only wrapped his hand around her wrist and pulled her hand away from him. She knew what his eyes were saying, however, and she understood. _There was no time to be sick._ The rash had spared his palms but ran a rapacious path up the full extent of both arms, which she viewed mournfully. He swayed again against the heavy strain on his arm to stay sitting, which managed to drag Rey back to her objective. She stepped from the space between his knees and helped maneuver his legs into bed, which led her to another shocking revelation of the constitution of her husband’s body.

With his back turned to her, as she was about to lower him gently to the pillow, she saw a motley of terrible, angry scars. They crisscrossed his spine from below the base of his neck to where his tailbone disappeared beneath the fabric of his trousers. They were scattered across his shoulder blades and ran perpendicular, diagonal, and parallel to the lines of his ribcage. They were unmistakably the scarring of a lash. The skin itself had become hardened and rough like leather that had dried too long in the sun, and Rey wondered if he had any nerves to feel touch left at all. As if subconsciously testing the theory, her fingers splayed against the space between his shoulder blades, and the muscles beneath flexed at her touch, and Ben gave a full-body flinch and something of a whimper.

“ _Please don’t_.”

Feeling somewhat ashamed, Rey withdrew her hand in an imitation of touching something which had burned her and allowed him to be lowered to the pillow. He seemed unable to meet her eye even as she hovered over him, and she had an odd feeling that she should beg his forgiveness for— _something._ It felt odd to her that she had never before known that beneath all of her husband’s shirts was the weight of so many punishments—punishments that she had little idea of if they were warranted or not. However, her guilt ebbed as she rationalized that she had only once seen him without his shirt and the dim candlelight had, in fact, left much to be imagined of what he truly looked like. Still, her curiosity picked at her brain until she understood that she needed to leave before she asked him a question she had no business asking while he was vulnerable and feverish.

Her hand smoothed some of his sweat-slicked hair from his face in the phantom of an apology, and she murmured, “I will be back directly.”

She swiftly collected the cloths that had been soaked in cool water and ran back to his bedside, not even registering Maz passing her in the hallway. When she reentered, he had closed his eyes and looked almost asleep until she laid a cloth over his fiery forehead, and his eyes shot open. He watched her critically as she laid another cloth over his neck and as she spread cool water across his collarbones, chest, and down his arms. She stood back before stooping over his prone form again to pull her quilt up to his waist. The chair that sat in the corner of her room—the one he had pulled to her bedside the night he carried her up the stairs—she pulled to his side and sat, staring at his lazily blinking eyes.

Finally, he turned his head from her like he could not stand to look at her for much longer and pleaded to the wall, “Go take care of our daughter. Leave me. Please.”

Their daughter had not yet woken from her fever nap, Rey knew from the absence of crying, and she shook her head, also knowing that he was still keeping an eye on her from his peripheral vision.

“I am going to take care of _all_ of us. That includes you,” her hand found his and raised it to her lips where she pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of his wrist, the brief pounding of his pulse against her skin all she needed for her conviction.

A wrinkled hand squeezed Rey’s shoulder, and she looked sideways to see Maz had come to examine him. Upon seeing the rather hurried along state of his illness, she seemed just as displeased as Rey had been. She was not sure, but as Maz pressed the back of her hand into his neck, Rey thought she heard the old woman mumble something resembling ‘ _stupid boy_ ,’ and she was forced to suppress a laugh (despite the dire situation the house had been thrust into). Finishing her examination, the old woman tottered over to the window and looked out, seemingly deep in thought with her hands resting on her hips. Rey went to stand beside her while Ben’s breathing evened into feverish sleep. The sun was rising over the countryside and cast the skies into a vibrant and violent shade of red as if the very atmosphere were bleeding onto the rolling hills.

“Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” the old woman recited cryptically before turning her face up to Rey’s, “have you had enough of the warnings? Perhaps you find that you are the only to escape sickness and feel it is time to hide so it does not sweep you as well.”

The concept of hiding while the first family she had ever known in her rather short life suffered could have turned Rey’s face green, “ _No_.”

Maz’s aged countenance took on a sort of beaming pride, “I am glad to see young Solo did not marry a yellow-bellied fool. Come then, child, we have long days ahead of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, we have arrived at Plot. Do I like having to write angst so soon after TRoS(h)? Like no, but alas. 
> 
> Also, the angsty illness I plucked is the scarlet fever (if you did not notice the almost million times I used the word scarlet, hate myself) which is basically strep throat but worse and gives a sandpaper rash to the torso and is spread by bacteria and saliva (also coughing). 
> 
> Also, the chapter count is most likely subject to change.
> 
> Also, I'm sorry.


	9. The Great Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scarlet fever part two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See the end of the chapter for a trigger warning, also, mind the tags.

After three days and three nights, it was no surprise to Rey that the weakest of the patients began to take turns for the worst. For convenience, the baby’s bassinet had been moved into Leia’s room so that neither of them would be without care at any given moment. Ben was still faring as best he could and mostly suffered a sore throat, though his rash had nearly covered his whole body leaving only his head, hands, and feet untarnished. The baby had begun to cough much like her grandmother, and to stand in their shared sick room was to feel a sympathetic rattle in the chest and throat at nearly all times—so much so that Rey often thought she were the one sick and coughing. Sleep was a distant dream, one that Rey pushed from her mind with her characteristic stubbornness and the adrenaline from the panic of a parent watching her child suffer.

Rey was holding her daughter as she cried and coughed a squeaky and hoarse cough that could only be painful for the soft and developing throat of a baby. They were by the window, Rey watching the sun rise on a grueling night with a fiery pink color, and she hoped her daughter could see some of it. It was a beautiful violence, which left Rey in awe at the artistry yet uneasy for what it could hold for her family.

“Sailors take warning,” she murmured mostly to herself and pressed a kiss to her daughter’s damp tufts of black hair.

Just as her lips left her daughter, the little girl went silent and still. Her breathing was noisy and wheezy, and when her cries ended they sounded as if they were croaked off, cut short by some unknown power. Rey frowned, unsure if it was a sign of recovery or something she would rather not even consider. Maz pressed a hand to her elbow in a silent question, and Rey turned to hand her off to the tiny midwife for inspection. With bated breath, she watched as the woman cradled the girl against her with one arm and pressed her slim fingers against the baby’s rising and falling chest.

“Well?” Rey pressed as a change over-went Maz’s intense features, she seemed almost gentler and soft where she had been coarse before—Rey was, again, unsure of whether that was a good or a bad omen.

Maz handed the baby back to her mother’s arms and her voice was very gentle, “Hold her as long as you can, my dear.”

The startled confusion on Rey’s face must have prompted more of an explanation, so Maz laid a kind hand to Rey’s arm, and never broke eye contact with her, “In some cases, the infection can go to a patient’s heart and cause _complications_ , you understand,” when Rey shook her head, still not understanding (or at least not _wanting_ to yet), she continued, “Her pulse is very weak I am afraid. It will not be too long.”

“But,” Rey’s eyes blurred with tears and dread numbed her extremities, she was unable to finish the thought that she had begun.

Without giving Rey any time at all to fully take in what the old woman was breaking to her, Leia drew in a rattling breath from across the room. It was a breath so unlike all the other complicated ones, and Rey knew what that meant just as she knew what the words Maz had told her meant. She clutched the baby closer to her chest and willed her vision to clear. Maz had gone over to Leia’s side and smiled down at her, tenderly holding her hand. Leia, too, smiled up at her and took another wheezing, difficult breath that seemed to use all her energy to take.

“Thank you, my friend, I know you have done all you could.”

“Peace be with you, my friend. I will miss you,” was Maz’s very concerning reply, one that Rey was not prepared to hear.

The old midwife tottered over to stand before Rey again, seeming equal parts grieved and the picture of fortitude, “I will go and tend to Ben now. You will find me there when you are ready. Take your time, dear, as long as you need.”

With that, she hobbled from the room and closed the door, giving all three of the room’s occupants the privacy needed for what was going to come next. Rey was still in disbelief as she sat at Leia’s bedside, looking down at the woman who had been the mother she’d never had for all the world like she was an orphan again, lost and alone. The tears had returned in full force, and Rey was quite literally weeping over her daughter, her form hunched over her in a protective manner. Still, Rey did not allow her vision to blur again, for though the next minutes or hours she would spend in that room would perhaps be the worst of her life, it was important to her daughter and her mother by law that she could see them and remember them in their final moments. It was important to Rey that she remained attentive.

“Tell me,” she all but spluttered, “tell me what I can do for you?”

Both she and Leia were well aware there was nothing to be done, but Leia was patient and kind and cradled her damp cheek with her shaking hand, “Nothing, my dear. I am for the grave.”

Keeping her baby held close with one arm, she pressed Leia’s warm, fever-riddled hand closer against her cheek, and resorted to begging, “Please, _please_ stay.”

Leia’s thumb stroked her cheekbone in an attempt to be soothing and she gave her a patient smile, “It is a kindness, do you see? The good Lord has seen fit that my granddaughter will never be alone,” her eyes were making Rey a promise, “in this life or the next.”

“Thank you,” Rey forced out even as her breath hitched in her chest and she was forced to close her eyes however briefly to gather the strength to use words which confirmed what was happening around her.

“She will _never_ be alone. I will take good care of her until you get there.”

She couldn’t bring herself to say it again, so she nodded before the desperate words rushed past her lips, born on sorrow, “I don’t know what I will do without you. _Both of you_.”

Leia’s voice, though trembling from weakness, was strong with conviction and faith in her daughter in law, “You will heal. _Both of you_.”

It was a referral to her son, who was still battling from down the hall and had no idea what grief was about to befall him—unless Maz was telling him, which Rey rather doubted—and all Rey could manage to force from her strangled sobs at this new and fresh pain was, “ _How_?”

“Be kind to my son. I know that he will be difficult and will try to draw into himself, like he does. Do not allow him to. Be kind to yourself and understand that you deserve happiness. Neither of you will be able to do it on your own. Help one another,” from Rey’s arms the baby stirred in unease and Leia let her eyes close, “For now, let her know that you are still here with her. Until the end.”

Rey’s hand fell from Leia’s and without her holding it there, it gently fell to rest against the baby’s cradle in her arms. Both of the patients were breathing, but both were breathing unevenly and with shakes and shudders. For a moment, Rey morbidly allowed herself to soak in the moments where both of them were breathing at all before she rested her other hand against the baby’s head and pet her and shushed her. The baby’s unease seemed to settle at the sound of her voice, and even more so when Rey began to softly sing to her and to Leia. On normal occasions, Rey’s voice was passable and even pleasant, but this time, her voice cracked with the strain of keeping it even and choking back her grief for her daughter’s sake. It made little difference to her daughter what she sounded like. By the time the song ended, the room was silent, and their chests had stilled. The world blurred over.

* * *

Distantly, Rey could hear crying when she came to from the deepest throes of her grief. At first, her ears tricked her into thinking it was her daughter, still crying in defiance of the fever, but that was not possible. The baby was laid next to her grandmother on the bed, eerily unmoving and small. Let alone the fact that the crying she could hear was not a child’s by any means, it was a man’s, and all at once Rey remembered herself. _Ben._ Not all had been lost—though the hole in the middle of her spirit made it feel much like it had—and she was renewed with purpose. Tearing herself from the room containing bits and pieces of her shattered heart, she forced herself to not look back. There would be more time than she would know what to do with to mourn later.

Rey was unsure how long she had taken to grieve, but however long it was, the time had not done well by her husband. He had seemed in pain before, but she had never feared that he was not in control of his own mind. That, she could see in his wild eyes, had taken a turn for the worst. To confirm her rising fears and dread, Maz’s face was grim, but it was not the same soft and apologetic expression she had given Rey hours before. There was still hope to be salvaged in the situation. She rushed to sit by his side in the chair and looked him over.

He had been propped up on pillows to an almost sitting position and was breathing heavily through his mouth and clutching at the quilt by his legs with white knuckles as he did so, and Maz rushed to update her (tactfully saying or referring to absolutely nothing that had passed while Rey had not been present for the changes in his condition), “The airway in his nose is blocked, and his throat has swollen to the state that it too is blocked when he is lying flat. He cannot speak either.”

“What was the crying that I heard?” she watched his eyes flick to hers when she spoke, but it was the only acknowledgement of her presence that he gave.

“He woke from a bad dream and found he could not speak. An unfortunate combination, I’m afraid. Hopefully, he did not damage anything with his yelling.”

“Damage anything?”

“Forcing sound out against resistance can sometimes cause damage and added pain,” she explained before looking at him beseechingly, “So I don’t want to hear anymore noises from you until the swelling has gone down. Is that to your understanding?”

As if pushing through water, his head gave a languid nod. His warm, amber eyes found Rey’s again and he just seemed to hold her gaze, waiting for her to tell him anything, his eyes so _open_ and _trusting_ , and she wanted to scream that it was not fair. It was unfair that such tragedy would interrupt their almost perfect domestic bliss. It was unfair that she could not tell him yet, which felt like lying, but she was unsure of the stasis of his condition and felt confident he would need all of his willpower to fight what was in store for him—telling him his mother and the daughter that had become his entire world had left them would certainly be something akin to murdering him. It was equally unfair that should he live, she would still have to be the one to break his heart the minute they should be rejoicing in his health. Instead of betraying any sort of emotion that would give her away, she brushed her knuckles against his cheek in something of a caress, and he seemed relieved at that despite struggling to find breath.

Maz had evidently left for some time as she reemerged just then with a glass of water in her hand. They made brief eye contact, Rey shook her head, and Maz nodded respectfully. Nothing about the mother or the daughter would pass anyone’s lips in Ben’s presence. The water in her hand, Maz tipped the glass towards Ben’s parted lips, and he looked at it with suspicion.

“You are to gargle this slowly. It will help to heal your throat. _Do not drink it_ ,” Maz was stern with him, but he did not seem fazed by her authoritarian bedside manner.

The glass had barely allowed a trickle of water to pass his lips before a change overtook his formerly docile and complacent behavior. With little warning but the widening of and the wildness in his eyes, he pushed against the glass in vehement refusal and let the water dribble down his chin, all but spitting it out. Maz retracted the glass without allowing it to be smacked away along with its watery contents, and Rey sat back in her chair in surprise. His breathing became a staccato rhythm despite the struggle to do so and his fingers clenched the blanket in the same stilted rhythm taken by his breaths. He was panicking, and Rey did not know why.

“ _Ben_?”

Before she or Maz could stop him, he rasped out through swollen and grating vocal cords, “ _Salt_ ,” which made very little sense to Rey, but seemed to make a world of sense to Maz.

Her free hand propped on her hip and a disapproving look appeared on her face, Maz scolded him, “Yes, _saltwater_. You cannot _possibly_ allow me to believe you cannot do as I say with it when it was _you_ who ran off to be a sailor.”

Rey could see with clarity how he was not really of his right mind. He had woken from a nightmare to find himself still living in one, and the fever was not much help to distorting reality. Rey imagined it could cause a great deal of fright, especially to someone with an already feeble psyche. She was not sure _why_ his subconscious feared saltwater, but she supposed it was not for her to know, only to help him overcome it for his sake. Her hand was grasping the glass within seconds, and Maz let it go.

“Ben, please. Let us help you,” she inched the glass closer to him, and took it as a small victory that he did not bat it away, “It won’t hurt you. Not today, not with me. Please.”

The glass was at his lips again, and he squeezed his eyes shut as if accepting death and let her tip the water into his mouth. His reaction was instant but tempered. He reared back into the stack of pillows and looked as if he would spew it out of his mouth, but instead he tipped his head back and let the saltwater gently bubble against the entrance to his throat. A single tear slipped from his tightly squeezed eyelids as the only indication of his terror and discomfort. Per Maz’s instruction, he did not swallow it and cautiously spit it back into the glass it came from. He settled back into the stack of pillows with an exhausted slowness as if this one simple action had sapped him of all the energy he had. The tear was sitting high on his cheekbone, having yet to crest over the ridge and fall. Achingly slow, she pressed a gentle kiss over the droplet, tasting the salt of it on her mouth when she pulled away. He gave a shuddering sigh and lifted his hand towards where hers was, in an indication that he wished to hold it but decided against it, evidently, and went back to clutching the quilt.

“Don’t,” he croaked, voice cracking painfully, and he haltingly continued though she tried to shush him, “don’t—let me—drown.”

“Ben,” she admonished him and felt his burning head with the back of her hand, “I’m not entirely sure what your meaning is,” his expression looked absolutely _stricken_ , so she rushed to correct herself, “But _I won’t_. There will be no drowning today. In the meantime, you should get some sleep.”

She did not need to repeat herself for he only nodded and closed his eyes, that being all he needed to do to fall fast asleep—if not a bit fitfully. Even in sleep, his mouth was still parted to breathe deeply, and his hands still seemed to scrabble to clutch at the quilt out of the effort it took to do so. Once she was sure he was asleep, she allowed herself to cry over him silently. She cried over him, over her child, over Leia, over how quickly her life seemed to fall into shambles, but she was careful to not make a single noise. Maz let her do so in peace, only stopping to give her shoulder a firm squeeze before busying herself with changing out the cold compresses—whether from a need for them to be changed or to give Rey a semblance of privacy. When Rey finished, she swore to herself that would be the last time she would let herself slip into her grief until Ben was recovered, grief’s distraction would not be welcome in the great fight to come (she rather hoped she could will it away, in any case).

It took one day of him dozing in and out of consciousness, Maz and Rey waking him up every hour to gargle the saltwater solution, for him to at last lose all lucidity. When Maz held the glass of water against his mouth, he closed it and in his deliriousness, managed to knock the glass from her hand and send it sailing across the room. That was a mess for later, the two women decided, and they turned their attention to Ben who seemed to be struggling against an unseen assailant—if weakly so, seeing as Rey’s conscious and aware strength was no match for Ben’s limpid and sickly attacks. His arms rested by his sides again, but he still thrashed his head from side to side muttering nonsensical things under his breath.

“That will be the last we see of Ben Solo for some time,” Maz remarked grimly.

“What is your meaning?”

Maz checked his pulse by his wrist and sighed, “If his fever breaks in the night, he will have a fighting chance.”

Rey swallowed fear and bile in her throat, “What can we do?”

“Wait and pray,” Maz looked at her with something resembling a pitying expression and caused Rey’s sudden ire to vibrate lowly within her, “Leave the rest up to God and to Ben.”

Her fists clenched in anger, and her jaw set, “How come there is not more to be done? What about bloodletting, we have not even attempted—”

Maz snapped at her, “In my experience, child, which is a fair bit more than yours, if you bleed a weak man it shall only suffer to make him weaker. It is a _certain_ approach to killing your husband. Is that what you want?”

Sufficiently chastened, Rey ducked her head in shame and rested it on her crossed arms next to Ben’s tossing and muttering face. Remembering her promise to keep her grief from the room, she did her very best to not cry. Maz seemed to soften and Rey felt as the older woman tucked a loose strand of Rey’s—likely filthy from a lack of time for bathing—hair behind her ear.

The older woman’s voice had gentled as well, “There is not much to be done. You have not slept in so long a time, child. Perhaps it would be best if you used this time to rest?”

Rey shook her head, never taking her eyes off of Ben’s restless form, she was quite determined, “Should it be his last night, I won’t leave him alone. Not for a moment. He deserves that from me.”

“I shall promise to wake you should his situation decline or even improve.”

“I’ll find no rest away from him,” she turned just slightly so that Maz could see her eyes, “If there really is nothing to be done, perhaps you will find rest. Any room is open to you if you wish.”

Maz chuckled a bit, “We healers are not meant to get any rest.”

Rey turned to fully face her, and it seemed that Maz understood what her expression meant and corrected herself, “But maybe you are right. Thank you, dear, I won’t be long.”

With Maz’s watchful gaze lifted from her, Rey allowed herself to pad to the other side of the bed and clamber into it to Ben’s side. He was still muttering to himself and throwing his head to the side on occasion when she tentatively reached out to him and touched his bared shoulder. At her touch, he seemed to calm, muttering never ceasing but the thrashing did. Instead of tossing back and forth, he took to shivering underneath her fingertips. Perhaps that was what convinced her to pull him bodily into her, wrapping her arms around his wide shoulders and cradling his head into the crook of her neck. Was it because he looked cold? Or did she just need to be close to him? Rey reasoned that it could easily have been both reasons as tears began to drip down her nose and chin onto his pale yet scarlet and sandpapery skin, and she began to rock him within her frantic embrace. His small whispers to himself or whoever inhabited his fever dreams tickled the skin of her neck, his lips occasionally brushing against her there. Otherwise, she received little movement from him.

This was the desperate hour that she began to speak to him. It was a last-ditch effort really. Rey was entirely skeptical over whether or not Ben could hear her, and even if he could it was doubtful he could understand her through the fever haze. However, if she would never be able to speak to him again, there were things that could not go left unsaid, even if they were cowardly whisperings of guilt and grief and begging into the ears of a man who could not possibly hear her. All the same, she leaned over him, brushed his dark hair away to expose an endearingly large ear, and made her pleas to him.

With her voice so close to his ear, she had intended to whisper soft words, but all that came out was pitiful spluttering—nevertheless, she soldiered through it, “I’m not sure that you can hear me, Ben, but I hope that you can. I know that,” she heaved a sob that rattled her body, but she clung to him to keep him from slipping and continued, “I know that when you wake up, there will be so much to overwhelm and to hurt you. You might even resent me for it, but you have to wake up. You have to wake up for me.”

He gave no response, of course, and she continued her nearly nonsensical stream of consciousness, “Perhaps that is selfish of me, and I know that I am guilty of being selfish more often than I’d like to think—but you—you,” she struggled with the right words as a sudden outrage, of all emotions, gripped her, “ _You’ve been selfish too_! How could you,” her face began to heat along with the emotion laced in her words, “How could you _marry me_ and somehow endear yourself to me at last against all odds, just for you to—for you to _leave me._ You _promised_ you wouldn’t leave me—”

Cutting herself off, she sucked in a deep breath and tried to reign in her swirling feelings. Yelling him back to health was likely not the most strategic of tactics, but it was probably the most like her. Being angry with him was her default emotion from the beginning, but he was her friend and all she had left, and it could not be that way after so much time and shared loss had wedged itself between them. Chagrin and sorrow and desperation crept back into her bleeding heart, and she resumed her speech.

“Please, Ben. I’m—I’m begging you. Don’t die. Don’t leave me alone in this great and terrible house. Please, I cannot bear anymore. I cannot be lonely again,” she pressed a kiss to his temple—clammy and damp though it was, she could not bring herself to mind.

“ _R—ey_ ,” his voice cracked even on a whisper, and she pulled back to see he was not really speaking to her, just speaking in whatever fever dream was playing in his mind, “ _don’t want—I don’t want_ ,” his chest shuddered, and he gave a deep, shuddering breath, “ _to go._ ”

Rey wrapped her arms around him tighter, holding his shivering form all the more pressed against her and whispered in his ear, just for him, “Then don’t. Stay with me, Ben. _With me_.”

* * *

Maz kept to her word and gave Rey a decent amount of time to herself. Rey doubted that she did any real sleeping, only avoiding for her sake. In the two hours or so that the midwife was absent, Rey more or less spent them in the same position, cradling her much larger husband in her arms and begging him to stay with her. He would occasionally croak something, but for the most part, he stuck to his flaky murmurs and whispers into her skin, which Rey thought was best as he was not supposed to be using his voice at any rate. She figured the swelling in his throat must have gone down at some point because after a fair amount of time in her clumsy embrace, his fingers—which she had not noticed in the first place—went slack from where they’d bunched in the folds of her skirt, and the short breaths fanning against her neck evened up. The closeness was what Rey had needed for peace of mind and a morsel of hope, and the tears had dried, leaving only determination.

Rey could hear Maz’s footsteps, which she understood to be deliberately slow, giving Rey all the time she required. It was with great care that Rey took to extricate herself from Ben and lowered him back to rest against his fort of pillows. One last brush of her knuckles against his cheek, and she pulled herself away, settling back into the chair at his side. When Maz reentered the room, she was holding his hand and watching him have another bout of night terrors. His whispered words were becoming somewhat louder and more understandable, but he was not thrashing and sailing his arms at would-be attackers, which Rey counted as progress. Maz pressed her fingers lightly against the sides of his throat, checking for the swelling, and he flinched a bit in his suspended state but otherwise did not resist.

“What do you think?”

“The swelling has gone down for the time being it seems—the saltwater likely to thank for it. The fever remains to be persistent, however,” Maz responded with a scrutinizing gaze directed at his muttering and feverish form.

Ben’s breath hitched, and his eyelids fluttered, causing Rey to almost dare to hope he would wake, but was glad she did not for his voice only raised a bit to give breath to some of his irrational drivel spoken in fragments, “— _I don’t want to_ — _don’t make me_ — _no choice_ , _no choice_ , _no choice_ —”

“Who is he talking to?” Rey asked Maz as she shushed him and wiped the sweat from his brow with a cool cloth.

“All I can say is that I do not envy him for the demons which live inside his head.”

Rey’s balking face must have betrayed the horror at such a suggestion for Maz rushed to clarify, “No, no, I do not mean to say he is _possessed_ , heavens, _no_. I only mean that it is sometimes the way with soldiers to return to their homes as changed men,” Rey had nearly forgotten Ben had told her long ago, in a happier life, that he was in the Royal Navy and clung to Maz’s every word, “People who see battle often see things they should not and it stays with them. _Demons_ , figuratively.”

“The scars on his back,” Rey wondered aloud and Maz seemed to nod knowingly, “The day before, you mentioned that he ran off to be a sailor?”

“You did not know?”

“He,” her eyes darted away, feeling sudden shame creep up her neck, “Ben does not tell me much. Not about such things.”

“I have been in connection to this family for many years, and I will tell you what you wish to know— _only_ if you are certain you would not like him to tell you himself.”

Rey chewed her lower lip before responding, “Thank you, but I should wait, I believe.”

Maz smiled and patted the hand which covered Ben’s, “That is a wise choice.”

* * *

Ben’s fever broke at the first light of morning. Rey had been looking out at the sunrise with dread after a night of pacing and holding his hand. The skies had been cast in a burnt orange hue that brought warmth to Rey’s splintered heart. Silence had been deafening the minute that it had occurred, and Rey had torn herself from the window to sit by him once again. All night long she had heard nothing but his incessant whispering and muttering, and then there had been silence. She had been painfully reminded of when her baby had stopped crying due to her imminent passing some two days prior (with no sleep and no shortage of grief, the days had been simple to blur together), and she watched him greedily for any signs of likewise danger. Maz had joined her and checked his pulse and fever before pulling away with a relieved smile.

“The fever seems to have run its course. With some careful recovery, he should be quite alright,” Rey all but wept with relief, and without thinking, catapulted herself from her chair to fold the tiny woman into a tight embrace.

“Thank you.”

Though his fever broke at morning, Rey did not allow herself to rest until night had fallen and settled. She had long since sent Maz to bed before she decided to break her vigil at last. Long past caring of how perspired he was or the rash touching her skin or the last vestiges of overheating radiating from his body, she curled herself into his side on the bed, her head resting on his chest to listen to his heartbeat. The muscle beneath her ear beat with proud strength and lulled her into much needed sleep. Briefly, she woke to Maz whispering that she would be in the kitchens cooking up a broth before Rey’s eyes again fluttered asleep, uncaring that Maz had seen her looking rather unladylike—she felt that they were beyond that, at that point in time.

A hum beneath her cheek and general stirring caused Rey to shoot awake. Maz was still absent and Rey carefully watched as Ben seemed to shift, eyes still closed. Then, for the first time in days, they opened. There were slivers of light peeking through the closed curtains that he squinted against, but he was _awake_ and _healthy_. Forgetting her grief for a blissful moment, sheer delight swelled in Rey’s chest and burst over onto her face. Her mouth stretched into a grin that crinkled her eyes, and she ran her hands over his face several times to be sure it was real.

His voice too it seemed was on the mend, and only cracked in the midst of a handful of words, “I have been having the most terrible nightmares.”

Unable to respond with words due to the overwhelming joy exuding from her, she took his hand pressed his hand flat against her cheek. Smiling, giggling, and crying in happiness, she turned her head into his palm and boldly pressed a smattering of kisses there. It seemed he was just as joyful as she was, or he enjoyed her joy.

“I am glad yours is the first face I saw,” his eyes blinked closed, but his thumb stroked across her cheekbone to let her know he had not drifted off again, “How long has it been?”

“Since you took ill or since you fell asleep?”

He sighed, “Both? I cannot recall much.”

“A little over a week.”

His thumb against her cheek stilled and his eyes shot open, panic etched in them, “Have you,” he began but seemingly had to swallow a lump in his throat, “have you stayed here the entirety of that time? With me?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, uneasy as to the direction the line of questioning was going.

“Why weren’t you with the baby?” His eyes were afraid, and Rey thought he very well should have been, knowing what she did.

The determination and resolve to keep him alive that she had been using to stave off her grief crumbled in the face of his recovery. It was astounding how she could be so unbelievably happy one moment and bone-crushingly despairing the next. Her face twisted in response, and she scolded herself that her expressions were the only things that were telling what he needed to know. _I don’t know how to break your heart_ , she thought. Distantly, as if she were feeling everything from outside of her body, his hand fell away from her face. Unable to watch his face crumble as he had to watch hers, she followed his hand to the top of his chest and wept into it in earnest.

His voice was thick and hoarse—not out of the fever’s attack on his throat, but rather the gripping sorrow she had already been living with, “And my mother?”

Rey shook her head, unable to face him, but able to sputter out on a wail, “I could not save them.”

Beneath her cheek, his hand slipped out but landed on the back of her head, cradling it to him soothingly. Even as she could feel his chest bouncing with punched breaths and could hear his choking grief above her, she could still feel his hand pet her hair with such tenderness. Every part of her mind screamed for her to comfort him as he was doing his best to comfort her, but she could not look up at him. It was one thing to hear him break, and it was another thing entirely to be forced to watch it play out on his reliably expressive face. After some time, the sounds of his sorrow petered out, his chest fell to a less tumultuous stillness, and his hand halted his strokes against her hair. With caution, she looked up to find he had fallen back into a bitter, _bitter_ sleep. The tears had yet to even dry on his face, and she had never seen him scowl so deeply before, conscious or otherwise. Unable to stomach the sight of his raw pain any longer, she followed his example and laid her head back down to rest again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for the very beginning of the chapter and ending at the first divide: loss of a child and loved one. Discussions over said loss will pretty much be discussed indefinitely throughout the rest of the story.
> 
> Okay,,,I am sorry :( I know this is sad, but I would never kill a character without purpose so,,, yeah, I'm sorry, but it will get better. This has always been in the plan for this story, I promise I'm not being mean (intentionally) :( On the bright side, we will see a couple familiar faces in the next update!


	10. The Smallest Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grief takes many shapes.

Ben’s road to recovery was not so easy. The last vestiges of the fever left him often unsteady on his feet and occasionally dizzy if he stood for too long. All this aside, the day to bury their loved ones could not be pushed any farther back. In their mourning colors, Rey and Ben sat together in the drawing room, waiting for it to be time for the funeral. Poe had arrived the day before but elected to stay somewhere in town to give them space for their grief. In the tense and horrible silence, Rey wished for his presence to provide an ounce of light in the leering gloom. Instead, she sat silently close to Ben. She held his hand—limp in her grasp as he made no move to reciprocate the gesture. From the corner of her eye, she studied his passive features, only ever so often watching his jaw clench or the dark hollow beneath his eye twitch.

“You have guests, my lord,” the butler interrupted their dreadful silence.

Ben’s face twisted in anger, “Who could _possibly_ find it appropriate to visit at such a—”

Interrupting his question was an older gentleman who walked into the room with the confident stride of a man far younger than he. Ben’s reaction was immediate. His nostrils flared and fire burned in his dark eyes, and his hand curled around hers at last, but with an almost too-tightness. Rey had never seen him look so hostile, and her gut twisted at what this stranger meant to him. In the silent stretch between them, Rey took in the stranger’s appearance. He, like they, was wearing mourning colors which marked a connection to Leia presumably. The more she took in his face the more haggard and roguish he seemed, a scar across his chin and a bristly jaw. The man’s skin was worn and wrinkled like he’d spent a life in the sun. Something about him seemed familiar, and as she looked between her husband and the man, it dawned on her.

Her thought was confirmed when the man gruffed, “Good to see you, kid.”

Ben’s reply was terse, “What are you doing here?”

“To say goodbye to my wife, if that is all well and good with you.”

Then it was just staring. Ben glared daggers into the face of his father, who only stared evenly back at his son. _Han_ , that was what Leia had said his name was the one time she had mentioned him before. Rey, for her part, darted stares between the two of them, praying nothing was going to go amiss on an already evil day. Han then seemed to falter, and his confidence wavered on a sigh.

“I know I wasn’t there for her. I’m sorry.”

Ben sprung up from the couch and stalked towards his father like a predator on the prowl, “ _You never were so I cannot pretend to be surprised_.”

Rey scrambled from her seat to follow him like a lost dog, having a half a mind to interrupt whatever it was that was about to happen. Han’s eyes darted to her for the first time since he entered, and his eyes widened as if just realizing she was there.

“Who is this?”

Before Rey could introduce herself, Ben had leaned further in and seethed, “ _My wife._ ”

Han really did look taken aback then, “Kid, you got _married_? When?”

Rey watched as a muscle jumped in Ben’s cheek at his father’s ignorance, and she rushed to beat him to the question, squeaking in an attempt to be amicable, “Over a year ago. I’m Rey. It is good to make your acquaintance, Mr. Solo.”

The old sailor smiled a bit, and she could see he was attempting to be lighthearted, “Well, that is excellent news—if not a year late. Any little ones on the way?”

Her eyes closed briefly. He had meant well with his question, and she did not blame him for it. However, it was absolutely the wrong thing to say. When her eyes opened again, she watched in slow motion and with the utmost horror as her usually mild-mannered, book-reading, garden-tending husband sent his father stumbling backward with a brutal punch to his weathered face. A shrill sound escaped her throat, and Rey choked back the full sound of the scream that was near to bursting. Han, however, rubbed his jaw with mild irritation and did not look nearly as surprised as Rey was.

Ben leered into his father’s face, fury and pain written into his expression, “You had a granddaughter,” and he stalked from the room.

From outside the room in the foyer, she could hear him speak to someone else, “Uncle.”

“Nephew,” replied the other voice before he stepped with caution into the room.

The new man—presumably Leia’s brother—was older as well and resembled his sister only very little. He was dressed in priest’s attire, and Rey was silently reminded that he was a man of the cloth. None of this mattered of course, because Rey could not give less of a damn about him.

“I _had_ a granddaughter? Past tense?” Came Han’s quieter remark.

Rey was already exiting the room slowly, “The fever took her the same hour as Leia. I’ll see that your baggage gets to your rooms,” and she did not wait for a reply, merely bounded up the stairs after her agitated husband.

Unsurprised to find him back in his room, but she was surprised to step into it right as he sent a vase flying across the room. It was hurled with such raw fury that she jumped back and flinched even further as it smashed into shards and dust against the wall though it had been nowhere near her. Several beats passed where he had yet to acknowledge her and only heaved angry breaths that caused his mountainous shoulders to tremble. It was not good for him to work himself up in such a manner, Rey knew, for he was still on the mend, and her heart skipped a beat when he swayed and sagged against the post of his bed. He looked at her then, broken and lost and so, so angry with how the world had dealt with him. Crossing the room, she stood against his side and looped her arm through his, offering a bolster for his unbalanced form.

Her thumb rubbed a soothing circle into the crook of his elbow, and the tension in his body lessened incrementally, “Terrible though it is, the day must continue.”

Looking for all the world like the most miserable person to be breathing, he gave a passionless nod. For the sake of surviving a little longer against the pulverizing loss, Rey watched as his expressive face went lifeless and any sort of feeling expressed in his eyes deadened. To anyone else, Ben looked as if he were simply apathetic to his surroundings. To Rey, he looked like a walking corpse. She was positive she looked the same to him.

* * *

In the end, they chose to name her Leia. When the decision of a name was forced upon them for need of something to put on the grave marker, the choice was painfully simple. Leia, the grandmother, had an eloquent stone with flowers engraved that matched the ones on the small marker. Little Leia was laid directly next to her namesake, all in hopes that it would be like breathing for the two of them to find each other again in the world departed. Ben and Rey were arm in arm as they watched the impossibly small box be lowered into the ground. Rey’s stony façade had cracked under the sweeping realization of just how _small_ the box was, and she clung to Ben’s arm like an infant herself, weeping without shame even as the local priest droned sympathetically about rejoicing in the release of their Earth-bound chains. Ben had remained stoic, eyes watering and occasionally tipping over, but not an inch of feeling betrayed him otherwise. Rey clung to his arm, but he did not make any attempt to hold her or comfort her as he had done the day of his waking.

Many members of the town came to pay their respects. Each and every tenant of the estate was in attendance. Finn included, standing at a respectful distance with Mr. Dameron next to him. Rey would have given herself a secret smile at the stray thought of how close they stood to one another, but as it was she could not. Leia, though, ever Poe’s conspirator would be smiling for the both of them, she thought. Somewhere, she thought she had spotted Maz. Though they too were members of the family, Han and Luke chose to remain distant just so from Rey and Ben, which Rey thought for the best. There needn’t be a repeat of the morning’s events, and—Rey thought with no shortage of bitterness that burned her throat and guilted her—they had never before met little Leia.

At the end of the ceremonial droning that Rey tuned out to the blood rushing in her ears and the pounding in her head from the strained weeping, the attendees left them. Finn and Poe stopped to shake Ben’s hand—going as far as to offer their left hands to shake as his right was otherwise occupied by his despairing wife. To Rey they gave sympathetic nods. Poe looked deeply troubled by the turn of events—he had loved the baby too, she remembered. He had always poked fun at her wailing and her red face, but he had elected himself to be her uncle and had rejoiced when he had thought he had made her giggle on one occasion. Finn, too, had a connection. He had called her beautiful and seen her many a time on Rey’s lap, the sun bouncing off her white clothes as she took her for rides in the phaeton. Her namesake too had always treated them with kindness and shared a comradery with Poe alike to that of treating him like a second son (one that laughed at her jokes). When the two left them and there was naught but the sound of Earth falling onto the small box, Rey could no longer comport herself.

Her knees gave out to her grief, and she could feel her arm slipping from Ben’s limply returned hold. However, her knees failed to hit the ground as Ben finally relented his sudden policy of guardedness and wrapped his arms around her torso to keep her afloat. Though she knew this kind of straining on his part was not helpful for the weakness which still plagued his system, it was what she desperately needed. However, when she got her knees back under her, he withdrew again into himself—not objecting to her silently taking his arm again, but when not necessary, not returning anything. In the carriage on the ride home, he had politely helped her inside but retreated to his own side of the carriage. _He needs space_ , Rey chided herself, _but I told him I was selfish—I told him._ Without a word, she lifted herself from her seat and took her place beside him and laid her head against his arm. Stiff, unyielding, but he was not denying her.

As they passed through the town for the second time that day to make the return trip, she remarked in a croaky voice laced in sad irony, “You brought me to see the town after all.”

Ben said nothing.

* * *

Dinner was an awkward affair at the very least. There was a sort of tension between the aggrieved couple, and Rey dared not risk acknowledging it by speaking directly to him. She would have rather enjoyed not speaking at all, but Han seemed to have a similar idea as her and tried to speak to his son by facilitating indirect questions to Rey instead, which she answered steadily. _They met at a ball. No, they did not dance. Yes, Ben was an insufferable git._ Ben wasn’t eating his food, she could see from her peripheral vision, he was only giving off the impression that he was eating as he deliberately chased his food around his plate with his fork. When she spoke, however, his fork would stop to show that he was listening—if only to just her—but he never looked at her once. Luke ate his peas in interested silence, he was an odd man she gathered.

A loud clatter arose from Han’s side of the table as the metal of his fork dropped with purpose to the porcelain dish before him, “ _Son_.”

Ben’s head rose in alarm, but his features dutifully arranged themselves into a petulant scowl, and Han worked his jaw in a similar way that Ben did as he mulled his words over, “Do you want me to leave?”

Ben swallowed though Rey had known for a fact that he had eaten _nothing_ , “This is your family’s home,” his face twisted again, and his tone slipped with ease into sardonic, “not that you have ever graced it as such—”

“That was not what I asked, Ben.”

“What are you asking then? My permission to leave as you have always done? The sun has not even set on my mother’s and my daughter’s graves and already you are itching to get back to your dilapidated boat,” his voice seemed stretched, and Rey ached to reach out to him, but knew it best to not interfere (she and Luke exchanged several clumsy glances on the other hand).

Despite facing years of pent-up anger and unresolved family issues, Han remained unfazed and benign, “No. I sold the _Falcon._ ”

Ben looked as if he had been slapped, “You have?”

“It was supposed to be a surprise for your mother. I was, admittedly, hiding in Luke’s parish until I found the courage to come back. That was when we received the news. Luke is going to be taking a carriage back tomorrow—”

“Yes, I really cannot leave my followers alone for too long, you know, and the students will be missing me,” Luke interjected with little tact or shame as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth, and Rey nearly wanted to laugh (but of course the situation was too fraught and would she even be capable of laughter if she tried?).

Han huffed but gracefully moved past his brother-in-law’s quirk as if he had been well-practiced in the matter, “Yes—right—but I was thinking of staying for a while, and I know this is a difficult time. If my being here will only create more difficulty, then I’ll find somewhere else to go.”

Dreadful silence. Ben’s eyes had fallen to his very full plate (Rey was very distressed by his lack of appetite). Then, he cleared his throat—a habit he’d taken to after the swelling even though Maz expressly forbade him from it—and wiped his very clean from not eating hands on his napkin and stood. Rey thought for sure he was going to flee the room, but sure enough, he gave pause, eyes still downcast.

His voice was soft again, almost the way he spoke to her before everything, “You loved her too, and you would have loved _her_ too if you had ever met her,” only then did he make his escape.

“And you?” Han’s eyes were fixed upon her then.

Rey was taken aback, “Me?”

Han nodded, and it dawned on Rey that he was asking for her opinion too. A wave of gratitude washed over her that he would even think to consider how she felt. The feeling was nice, to feel like the man she had only met that morning thought of her as a member of the family with valuable input. She had never thought to expect that of a man—though she supposed Han was not really the patriarchal figurehead, flaky as his past seemed to be. She smiled and nodded.

“You seem good for him.”

At that, Rey was not sure how to respond. Was she good for Ben? In the year of their marriage, he had broken his leg at the sound of her exaggerated fright, been sniped at countless times—sometimes deserving and other times she woefully regretted—and she had brought something so wonderful into the world only to find herself unable to save it. He had even brought his mother to the house as a friend for her, and Rey wondered if she would have been spared had she never come. It felt to her that their life together had brought nothing but pain.

“I know that I am far from an expert on the matters of my son, being an absentee father most of his life, but he takes after me more than either of us would care to let on,” Han nodded to himself, “I know that look in his eyes. He looks at you like he’s lost you, which tells me that before you were lost to him, you were good for him, and now he’s going to do something foolish.”

Rey spluttered, unable to take this odd analysis of Ben’s psyche from his sailor father, “I’m not _lost_ to him, that’s ridiculous.”

“It’s all a matter of perspective.”

* * *

On the way up to her room, Rey had to pass the nursery and be reminded of how it was suddenly empty. When she stepped into her room, everything was terribly silent. She got dressed for bed and stared blankly at it. The bed for so many days had been occupied by Ben that she was not used to it being empty again. Once, it had been her solace from him, but for the first time it felt like a hindrance somehow. Not to mention, it was the exact place where she almost truly lost everything. For so many hours he had thrashed and muttered and fought against death on that very bed and blinking the memories away did nothing. If he had died, Rey would be more alone than she even already was. As it was, she felt bone-crushingly lonely, so she put on a night jacket.

Rey did not knock when she walked into Ben’s room and felt only slight guilt from the action. Standing in front of a full-length mirror in the antechamber was her scantily clad husband. He was wearing only his short drawers which exposed his long legs and broad torso to the flickering candlelight. The scarlet rash was receding and Maz had told them it would take a bit more time than he would perhaps like, which seemed a fair observation as she had walked in on him studying the peeling skin with a scowl so deep it looked like it had been engraved. Upon her entry, he startled, and his face reddened beautifully. In a haste to get his nightshirt—on the chair several paces behind him—he turned his back to her before tensing and facing her again. The scars, she thought might be the cause. Though she had seen them already, he did not seem to be in a hurry for her to view them again anytime soon. Bashful and fidgeting, his head hung low, and he took a step back.

After spending long hours healing him as he was half-naked and occasionally curling beside him as such, she gave little thought to his nudity. It did not bother her to walk closer to him and his bared skin, and she felt rather bold about it. He did his best to give little reaction, only watching her with a scrutinizing gaze as she brought her fingers lightly up to the skin peeling on his shoulder. They trace his skin lightly down, down his arm until she held his hand, examining how there was fresh, soft skin at his fingertips, and she could tell that he had been picking at it there. This felt like a more intimate detail to know about him than to see him in his underclothes.

“Does it hurt?” She traced over the new skin.

“It does not.”

“Good,” silence followed where she did nothing but simply hold his hand.

Confusion inevitably disrupted that silence, “What are you doing here?”

The question was the same as the one he had asked his father that very morning, but it sounded entirely different when he was looking at her below his heavy lashes with his soft yet deep timber. She set his hand gracefully back down to his side, her knuckles grazing his ribs on the journey there.

“My room feels empty,” she shrugged as if it were the most casual and natural thing in the world.

“You have always slept alone, what is different now?”

Rey reminded herself to be patient with him, he had certainly become more vexing in his grief than she had, “Yes, but more recently it has been full. You were there and Maz.”

A tug at his lips and it almost seemed that he was teasing her, “Shall I send for Maz because your room feels empty?”

A testy huff of breath, and she tried again, “It isn’t just my room. The whole house feels lonely.”

“Well it is more full than usual I had thought with my father and uncle staying as guests under this very roof—”

Frustrated nearly to tears and embarrassed that he would make her drag her pride like this, she all but shouted at him, “ _You know what I mean, Ben_!”

He just nodded solemnly, “I do. Are you asking anything?”

Her cheeks flushed and she could not bring herself to look him in the eye, “May I stay the night? Here, with you. I don’t want to be in that room anymore.”

“I’ll wake you up when I go on my nightly walk.”

“I know,” she swallowed and dared look at his impassive expression, “but you always did that anyway.”

“Are you _quite_ sure—”

Done and furious and pride wounded that she had to resort to begging, she heaved out on a dry sob, “ _Ben_ , we buried our daughter today, please don’t tease me I cannot bear it!”

His eyes widened and he rushed forward to embrace her, “I’m—I apologize, Rey. I didn’t,” he tensed and jumped back from her again, “and I apologize for,” he gestured to the peeling rash on his skin, “it is a bit repulsive, I didn’t mean to touch you—”

She huffed again and sniffed, amused by the return of his bashfulness, and she cut him off by pressing her palm flat against his chest, rash and all. Making Ben blush was turning out to be one of Rey’s greatest delights and she could not fathom why she had wasted so many months of their marriage not doing so. Clumsily, he gestured to the bed through the doorway to the room and stepped back—keeping his back and his scars still facing away from her—towards the nightshirt. Not as cruel as she once found herself to be, she gave him his privacy and climbed into bed. Minutes later, he entered—clothed again—and slid into the other side.

Side by side yet unmoving like unyielding slabs of wood, they laid, stoically not looking at one another or thinking about the fact that they were sharing a bed for the first time. Eventually, he worked up the nerve to pry himself from his position to blow out the candle and envelope them in darkness. The darkness enabled her muscle to find a solace in release at last, without the pressure of being watched.

She did not think she had ever heard him whisper before, but when he did, she almost missed it, “Tell me about the garden.”

“I’ll have to pick it back up. I’ve been distracted lately and neglectful,” she swallowed guilt.

He hummed under his breath into the darkness in response. As if fearing rejection, her hand shook as it reached for him in the dark. It felt like it had taken minutes of searching, but her palm at last cupped the round of his shoulder before sliding down in search for his hand. When she found it, she looped her fingers through his. She fell asleep like that and could not even bring herself to care that his fingers didn’t hold hers back.

* * *

Luke, as promised, left the very next day with little fanfare. Ben did not seem particularly disappointed by his quick departure, and she supposed that that was fair enough. Han and Luke exchanged a fraternal embrace, and he merely gave a respectful nod in Rey’s direction. The only surprise came when he said his last parting words to his estranged nephew.

“I will miss her sorely, but you remind me very much of her,” then he had smiled and climbed back into the carriage while Ben could only blink over the words spoken to him.

From thereon out, Han kept dinner a sufficiently awkward affair but otherwise minded his business. He would flit between walking the grounds of the estate and holing himself in one of the many studies to smoke his pipe in peace. Ben remained sullen, perpetually more sullen as time went on—and really Rey was not equipped on how to handle someone else’s grief when she herself could barely handle her own—and always had an edge to his tone when speaking. Despite his apparent inner torment and general asperity to those around him, he never protested when she came to his room night after night. Often, she would walk in to find him already in bed and reading a book, though she very much doubted he was really reading and highly suspected him of giving himself something to excuse not looking at her.

One night, when he woke up for his nightly wanderings, she—lulled into a false sense of security that sleep often wraps around people—asked him why he walked and where he went when he did. He had sharply scolded her, which for all intents and purposes, was a verbal approximation of shaking her awake. He had snapped that it was none of her concern—and she supposed it wasn’t, but his tone was severe enough to leave her trembling after he stomped away, guilty and fearful she had broken whatever routine they had fallen in. So, feeling hurt and that she was an annoyance to him, she did not return to his room that night. Try as she may, her ghosts seeped in through her walls and permeated her ability to sleep. It was luck then, that he was thrown open her door and stomped in, looking very much irritated and a book still in his hand.

“What are you doing here?” That question repeated again in a different tone from the last two, this time sounding hurt and distressed yet curious.

“I though you did not—”

“No,” he had said simply and the skin below his eye twitched.

“Oh.”

With utter abandon and a complete disregard for the well-kept condition of the book, he flung it onto her bed to free his hand—apparently—to scoop her up from her bed. _Oh, indeed_. Mouth stamped shut to avoid an indignant squeal of surprise, she scrabbled to clutch at the back of his neck for a hold in case he dropped her. He didn’t, of course he didn’t, all the way back to his room. There had been no discussion, he had merely plopped her into her puzzle-piece place and blew out the candle.

* * *

“ _Rey_.”

A presence was looming over her in the darkness, but it was familiar, and she was not afraid, and it repeated itself again, “Rey.”

“Ben,” she acknowledged at last from the dredges of sleep and sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“Walk with me.”

It was a command and left little room for questioning, but it was said with an entreating softness that left Rey understanding that should she have refused, he would have accepted. As it was, refusing him was becoming a more difficult task than before when it had been a knee-jerk reaction. Sleepily, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and followed his lumbering steps from the room. It felt like validation to finally be a part of his mysterious nighttime journey. Of course, she knew he wandered, she had heard the tread of his wandering roundabout steps for over a year—aside from the more than one occasion that he could not walk—so she was surprised when he _stopped._ Large frame taking up the doorway, he stood with hunched and defeated shoulders, and she did not need to be able to see around his body to know what room they had stopped at.

“Before, it was just uneasiness from the jarring nights on the ship, back when I was in the Royal Navy,” his voice was very nearly a whisper, and she dared not interrupt, “There would be terrible storms, you see, that would rock you from your hammock and you would think the world was upending and over. The same would go if the ship were attacked and a cannon would knock you from the balance of sleep and the sound would be deafening and horrid and people would scream. I dream of those things if I do not walk. The walking it,” he took a deep breath, “it _soothes_ me. It _soothed_ me.”

The slivers of moonlight outlined his form to reveal that he was trembling, and she wrapped her arms around his torso without hesitating and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades, “Does it not anymore?”

He shook his head and brought one of his hands to cover where hers were clasped together over his midsection, “Now I think of nothing but her. I come here every night. I dream of her and when I wake there is no gratification. Before I would wake and know that I was home and safe and far from the sea, but now I wake and I am so very, _very far from her_ ,” his voice cut off sharply as a tight edge had wormed its way in, and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

There was nothing to comfort him with, it would be like invalidating the love he ever had for little Leia, and she could not bring herself to do such a crime, “Thank you for telling me.”

They stood like for what felt was likely to be an hour. Neither of them moved or spoke. They simply breathed and thought and felt and reflected. Then, when the hour was up, as if their minds were of one mold, they turned together and walked back to his room from the nursery. When they reached the end of the bed to return to their separate sides, Rey unlatched her arm from his where they had walked arm-in-arm in solidarity down the hall and felt like she had lost something again. Ben blew out the candle, and they laid in darkness for an indeterminable amount of time. It took Rey minutes to realize that she was working up the courage to do something that she did not understand. The moment she realized that Ben’s breathing was not that of slumber yet, she took action.

Not entirely in control of herself but feeling it was _right_ , Rey rolled to her side and pressed herself close to Ben. She received a short gasp from him in response, but when nothing negative interrupted her—she was half afraid he would have shoved her away but knew that to not be in his nature—she rolled over him further, draped clumsily against his side and nearly laying on him. Twitching with an indecisive want, her fingers crept in the darkness to slide against the sides of his face. Her thumbs, mirroring one another, stroked down until they reached the corners of his mouth. With no warning or tact, she pressed her lips against his. It was not necessarily a kiss in the romantic sense, rather a faltering clash of lips smushed against each other as Rey really had no experience in kissing ever before. Their wedding night had certainly not taught her anything of _real_ intimacy, but in that moment, something came to life within her and she wanted to learn so badly her spirit ached.

For a horrifying moment, Ben did not move at all beneath her, and she was terrified it would be the same as the weeks past. The way she had held his arm at the funeral, and he did not hold her back until she was falling. The way he had intentionally sat apart from her in the carriage ride home. The way he never asked her questions about her day anymore and never looked at her during meals like he once did. When she held his hand at night, his hand never reciprocated. Feeling dejected and humiliated, she nearly made to tear herself away from him and flee until, at last, he _leaned in._

Like a burst of sunlight after a dark night, it felt as if he bloomed beneath her and she could not see him, but she could feel. His heartbeat thrummed in his chest as she lowered a hand to rest there and clambered to rest her knees on either side of his ribcage. One of his hands, she could feel by the indentation in the bed, pressed behind him so that he could sit and kiss her properly. The other hand cupped her cheek with such tenderness that she began to smile into the act as he led her to move her lips against his in what felt akin to dancing in her mind. Her fingers ran through his hair, and it was so much softer than she had ever imagined when she had looked at it or pushed locks of it from his forehead in fits of kindness. He seemed to enjoy her attentions as his muscles melted of any tension beneath her and his lips seemed to sink into hers softly as opposed to his fervent passion seconds before. Born on instinct and feeling and without really knowing what she was doing, her hips moved of their own accord and Ben—

—pulled away.

The shock of the cool night air meeting her dampened lips shocked Rey into reality and also confusion. Why was he stopping? She sat back against his lap, but he squirmed further away so that she was straddling his legs. His fingers were just slightly digging into her shoulders, and his breath was heavy and hot in the abrupt divide between them.

“Rey—what do you want?”

The question felt like a shock to her, but her mind seemed to be more up to speed than she realized because she found herself easily responding, “I want another one.”

Without her sight, it felt like she was hyper tuned to him and his movements, and she knew—she just knew—that he looked as if she had slapped him across the face with all of her strength. The words jolted him away from her so quickly that it felt like he had bounced her off of him. The depression in the bed where his weight had been lifted, and she could hear him rummaging and pacing the room. There was a scratch, another scratch, and then a small match illuminated just the ends of his fingers before lighting a candle and illuminating so much more. Her heart sunk at his near thunderous expression, and he had never raised his voice at her in anger before, but she felt that was about to change.

Instead of yelling, his voice was so much sharper and lower, and he seethed, “Have you moved on _so quickly_ from her? Have you already _forgotten_ her?”

The words sank into her chest like needles and the sharp sting made her eyes water, “ _How could you possibly ask me such a thing_? I,” she faltered and struggled to express her wants, “I miss being a mother—I—I _want_ to feel that way again.”

He was not even looking at her, as if she _disgusted_ him, and he paced like a caged animal, “So you would just use some baby to replace her?”

A sob hitched in her throat and watered her voice, whiplashed at how everything could go so wrong, “ _Of course not_ , and it wouldn’t be just _some baby_ , it would be _our_ baby!”

He snapped, raising his voice at last, eyes aflame, “It wouldn’t be _her_!”

There was nothing she could say to this, only sniffle and flush with humiliation that she would allow herself to take a chance on anything at all, and he narrowed his eyes, whispering and sounding more pained than anything, “Is that all I am to you?”

“I do _not_ take your meaning,” she hid her face with her hands.

“Am I just someone to father your children and make you feel content because you’re a mother?”

The irony was not lost on Rey that their apparent roles had switched—she certainly no longer felt like she was an heir-breeding cow in his eyes, but now it seemed _he_ felt that way in regards to her, which was almost ridiculous—and she cried out through the opening between her hands that were over her eyes, “ _Of course not_!”

“Then what am I?”

It was a simple question. There were a million answers that she could have given him, but she faltered over which to choose, which would best appease him. He was her husband? He was her friend? He was the father of her first child? All of these rushed through the forefront of her mind, but she stammered. In her faltering, taking too long to answer, his eyes grew incredibly sad. There was a watery sheen over them when the candlelight wavered over them, and he rolled his lips together as he often did in distress, and she knew she had wounded him somehow. She just could not figure out how, not in that moment, not under such stress.

“Thank you for your honesty,” was all he said before he stormed from the room, taking the candlelight with him, and he did not return for the rest of the night—which she knew painfully as she had sat up all night praying that he would.

* * *

Meals since Han had come to stay had always remained tense and awkward and silent, but breakfast the next morning was a whole new world. So much so that Han, who always tried his best never to cut whatever tension his presence caused, tried to dampen it with a joke—or his version of one anyway. An entire breakfast had passed where both Ben and Rey looked at no one ( _certainly_ not at each other), so Han must have naturally figured he was a foot out of the hot-seat where his son was concerned.

“You kids look like you’ve had a _rough night_ ,” there was a mischievous twinkle in Han’s eye—and oh, how she wished what he was implying was even in the slightest bit true (while also feeling entirely mortified that her father-in-law would ever allude to such a crude subject).

Without even giving Han’s suggestive remark the time of day, Ben let his fork clatter to his plate and announced, “After the meal is finished, I will be departing directly for London on business.”

Her heart leapt into her throat, “For how long?”

He cleared his throat but still did not have the mettle to look at her, “The time is indeterminable for the moment, but,” he glanced at her and could not do so for longer than a second, “you won’t be alone as my father will still be here.”

When Rey looked at Han, his face gave a general cringe at his son’s words, and Rey could sympathize. She had nothing against his father, but she hardly knew him. He was—not quite—leaving her with a stranger, the exact thing she had nightmares about as a child and sometimes still did, she had _told him about those—he should know better—_

“Why can’t we all go?” Her heart was beating faster in her chest and she feared it would stop from overworking itself.

“My father is not likely interested—”

“—but I would be,” she blinked at her own interjection and took a calming breath, “I would be interested. Besides, you’re still healing, you cannot go unsupervised—”

“I assure you, I can take care of myself,” his eyes at last bore into hers, speaking to her and her only, “It would be best if I went alone so I will not be distracted.”

With that, he pushed away from the table and stomped away to gather his things. Han and Rey had little to say to each other in his wake, but he did say one thing to her as they stood morosely outside of the estate watching him leave in the carriage (he had hardly even said goodbye to them).

“That,” he said in the kindest and softest voice the sailor could muster, “is what something foolish looks like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author is not good at kiss scenes or almost-smut or actual smut hahaha.
> 
> ***Short drawers were one of the three forms of undergarments men wore in the time period, they are basically modern boxers. The alternatives were long drawers and long johns. 
> 
> Did I write Luke's brief appearance a bit like Mr. Collins? Who's to say.


	11. The Bachelor's Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poe and Rey team up to Get Their Boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to draw attention that I've updated the tags a bit so, yes, while this is Angst and UST City, there will definitely be a HEA because I am wholly incapable of writing anything that doesn't end nicely. I swear I'm not actually evil :')

The day immediately following Ben’s departure from the estate was a somber one and left Rey with little appetite as she sat to a late lunch with her father-in-law. His son’s foolishness had left Han a tad more visibly affected, yet he did his best to operate as normal during the meal—meaning to do his very best to have some conversation even if the conversation partner had very little interest in speaking. After several attempts to coax her into talking about the garden and what her childhood was like (an already sore subject), his tone at last slipped from obvious and obnoxious encouragement to false casualness.

“You are going to follow him, are you not?”

“I had not planned on it,” Rey blinked in surprise that he would actually dare bring the topic bothering them into actual conversation and words, “I had planned to respect his wishes to be alone.”

Han had the audacity to laugh at her, and she fumed in confusion until he explained himself, “We both know that my son is not there on business, and he certainly not does not want to be alone. He’s running, trust me, I know all about running.”

The old sailor was right, of course, and Rey stewed in silence, chewing on her lip and hoping for any piece of advice that he would stoop to give her—when it did not come, she gestured wildly with her arms and asked for the advice herself, “Well what am I expected to do about it? Women do not just chase after their husbands, it simply isn’t done.”

“Sure they do,” he crossed his arms and leaned back, looking more and more amused by her, “the rich ones do. The ones with enough money to have agency and extra carriages, all of which you have whether you recognize it or not.”

Rey’s teeth dug into the skin of her bottom lip as she considered his words, and he seemed to take pity on her, leaning forward with a sincere look on his grizzled face, “Look, I’m only going to ask you one thing. Do you _want_ to?”

“Yes,” she released on an exhale.

Han smiled kindly, “Then you’ll go when you’re ready.”

Rey decided to pen a letter.

* * *

After a handful of days of planning and deciding, Rey was nearly packed and ready to leave in the early morning for London. Her driver knew where her husband was staying—apparently an old apartment they still owned despite its location in Cheapside (this, Rey did not mind, in fact, she was somewhat delighted to stay somewhere smaller and more similar to her own merchant-class background). Nettie was assisting with the packing, though she did not cease in her insistences that Rey was making a very big mistake, and for the first time in her time of knowing the woman, Rey could not find it within herself to hold back her true thoughts.

“Ma’am, we really ought not to be going,” she whined as she woefully placed an armful of folded fabric into a trunk.

Dryly came the reply, “Well, take comfort in the fact that _we_ are not going anywhere, just I.”

Horror washed over the servant’s face, “Oh, but ma’am! A woman traveling alone! And when the lord had said no one would be going with him on his trip—do not you find it improper to disobey him—”

Rey’s eyes narrowed, and she glared, “I beg of you, Nettie, to give me _one more_ of your unsolicited opinions.”

Her mouth clacked shut with a ringing intensity, and Rey continued to coldly reprimand her, “You know _nothing_ about my marriage.”

* * *

The apartment was even smaller than she had considered it would have been, and not for the first time, she wondered why Ben—who appeared to be out for the day—still maintained it. Upon her inspection of the quaint building, she discovered the downstairs held a simple front parlor, a dining area with naught but four chairs, and a surprisingly well-stocked kitchen. There were no staff quarters in the home, which gave her pause at the items in the kitchen as all signs pointed to Ben feeling that he would be staying there for a considerable amount of time and cooking for himself. There was a narrow and rickety set of stairs that led to a darker upstairs level made somewhat gloomy by the press of buildings on either side of the windows, looming and shadowing. At one end of the upstairs was a bedroom and a small yet comfortable antechamber preceding it with a large window and a seat at one side to make up for the lack of light everywhere else in the upstairs—that was after she flung the curtains open first, of course. The other end of the hallway held a dark study with a simple, wooden desk and its walls lined with dusty and unused books.

The study she would have written off as being utterly neglected for a fair amount of time had the pieces of paper not caught her eye. There was a trail of crumpled and spurned wads of parchment littering the floor towards the old desk. As she approached the desk, she picked one up and tried to make out its writing, but the ink must have been too fresh when he—she assumed Ben—had balled it up and tossed it. The only clue to what he perhaps had been writing was one untarnished piece of parchment sitting flat and unwrinkled on the surface of the desk. All that was written in his elegant, swooping script, however, was her name. What he was going to write after her name was a mystery, and she did not allow her mind to be overcome by fancies and whims and anxieties. Instead, she busied her mind by setting her bags in the bedroom—the one bedroom, a bachelor’s apartment she mused—and moved around the space as if it were her own, dusting shelves, fluffing pillows, starting a kettle of tea, and trying to make the area feel more like a home where people actually lived.

Eventually, she made her way to the front parlor again, dark behind the heavy drapes, and when she pushed them away, a beam of light brightened up what had very much the potential to be a beautiful sitting area. Her delight at the light streaming in was just enough of a distraction to belatedly notice that Ben had been walking up the stone steps leading to the entrance just as she had thrown them open, revealing her presence to him rather dramatically. Without looking at him, simply appearing to admire the light of the day outside, she could see his form stop in his tracks, and he gaped. Never acknowledging that she had seen him, she moved to the window of the dining room on the other side of the door, but as she moved away she had seen him make a mad, desperate scramble for the door. When she opened the other set of dusty drapes, it sounded as if an animal were scratching at the wood of the door as his hands, large and clumsy and obtrusive as they were, scrabbled in his haste to see that she was really there.

The door flew open with such ferocity that it hit the wall and bounced off from it and gently nudged him in the back as he stood and soaked in her presence. His expression was equal parts awed, confused, and distressed with that ever-present wrinkle in his dark brow, softened eyes, and mouth agape. Whether or not the shock of coming home to her unexpected appearance was what had him out-of-breath and panting in _their_ doorway or generally the exercise of walking around the city did it, he looked like an idiot, and her heart swelled with affection. A welcoming smile brightened her face, and she made a delighted noise in faux surprise at his theatrical entrance.

“You’re back,” she called out to him, a pleased tone to her voice.

“You’re here,” he panted out, more of a question than a statement, and she supposed that was a valid response. Valid though it may have been, she did not yet feel humored to offer him an explanation, as he seemed to be waiting for with his wide eyes.

She chose to cross her arms and tut at him lightly as she sauntered closer to where he was standing, “You keep the apartment so very dark, it cannot be very healthy.”

A frown slipped onto the line of her mouth as she took in his image with a closer view. It had only been a handful of days that she had been separated from him, but he managed to make himself look much worse than when he had run away. His hair was slightly disheveled—a sure sign that something was deeply wrong as that was always consistently immaculate—and something about him just seemed damaged. There was an open wound festering somewhere inside of him she could just barely make out, and it was seeping through very lost looking eyes and dark circles beneath those eyes, so dark she had to squint and be sure they were not bruises. It took him a moment to realize her hand had come to rest on his forehead to check for the return of the fever before he flinched away, eyes wincing as he took a safe step away from her. It was like he was reminding himself that he had wanted distance between the two of them.

“Are you feeling ill?”

Languidly he shook his head like he was looking at her from underwater and had to force his head to move against the watery resistance. He looked dazed, like he was still convincing himself that she was really there.

She shook herself of her phantom anxieties that his fever would return and take one more thing from her, and she gave him a smile that she hoped looked sweet and genuine, “I put a kettle on that should be near to ready if you want any tea?”

Once again, he moved his head with that slow push, this time in a nod, and she wondered if he even comprehended what she had asked him at all—this being confirmed when he asked rather than accepted, “Yes?”

“Very well, close the door will you?” she chirped and went to bustle around the kitchen, only giving him sparing looks as he followed her with a distant and befuddled expression. He had had a brown paper bag in his arm, which he sat on a counter and stared into without really seeing what he was looking at. When she passed by, she saw that he had made another of his odd purchases of oranges.

The way his face was still hanging over the opening of the bag made it look like he was speaking to the oranges, and she would have laughed had she not wanted to risk setting him off and ruining her machinations, “I thought that I told you—”

“Here’s your tea,” she hastened to cut him off with his cup, made to his preference, sat on a saucer and held out to him like it was a peace offering.

His mouth snapped shut, and he looked skeptically into his cup before raising his eyebrows in seeming surprise, “How did you know how I like it?”

She chuckled a bit and leaned against the counter, gracefully sipping her own tea, “I paid attention.”

A frown crossed his face, and she considered what she could have possibly said wrong this time when he quietly asked her as though she would be disappointed in him, “How do _you_ like your tea?”

“Sugar and a bit of honey,” her heart skipped a small beat as he nodded dutifully like he was trying to commit it to his memory.

Like a dog on a leash, he followed close behind her when she swept past him to sit in the parlor. Her skirt flowed with elegance as she sat on the sofa, and she smiled up at him from where he stood in the center of the room as if nothing was the matter. Weight shifting from foot-to-foot and chewing on his lip, he simply stood and watched her as if her mere presence was an impossible puzzle to solve. She waved her hand in a gesture for him to join her in sitting, and he obeyed, sitting in the armchair across from her looking hopelessly bewildered. Rey figured that her casual and pleasant demeanor had succeeded in throwing him off from asking the questions he wanted to ask, and instead, he swallowed them with his tea.

“I like the apartment. It’s quite cozy.”

A stunted and awkward nod and then he cleared his throat and looked around as if he was seeing the apartment in question for the first time, “Oh, yes, I bought it long ago,” he paused and directed his gaze at her before darting it away, “when I lived alone.”

“Was that after living with Luke?” _After you ran away_ , was what she meant and when he nodded thoughtfully, she added, “I mean no offense, but your uncle does seem to be a peculiar man.”

He quirked an eyebrow and his voice had a slight distortion as he muttered almost to himself into his teacup, “Peculiar is the least of it.”

Surprising even herself, she laughed genuinely at that and it struck her that they were almost conversing—something that hadn’t been really been done without anger or sorrow since before they had experienced loss. Ben seemed to think so as well because the tense knot of confusion on his forehead seemed to soften as he looked at her. The moment was interrupted by a sharp rap on the door that startled them both. Simultaneously, they set their cups aside to answer, but Ben hastened to stand first and gestured with a flat palm for her to remain sitting. Rey smiled wickedly into her teacup as he opened the door with caution.

“How did you know I was here?” Ben asked the unseen guest with a dumbfounded expression.

Poe Dameron, grinning like a madman, clapped him on the shoulders and pushed his way inside as if he had been invited—which he had not but that had never stopped him before, “Rey informed me when I visited the estate and found you absent,” he half-lied through his winning smile and strode into the parlor, “and speaking of Rey, it is very good to see you again! I must say, I am _delighted_ to have the three of us in London together!”

Upon the end of his exclamation, he slid Rey a wink unbeknownst to Ben who was walking up behind him looking quite whiplashed. Poe sat himself into the armchair formerly occupied by his oldest friend, which left Ben to awkwardly shuffle and sit on the sofa by Rey, though he gave her as wide a berth as he could manage pressed against the other end. Ben seemed to wistfully eye his tea sat next to what seemed to be Poe’s chair as he also appeared to simultaneously sneak dirty glares in the chair thief’s direction. Poe pioneered through sheer willful ignorance of said glares.

“I assume you have heard of Mr. Wexley’s ball he is hosting tonight? Everyone is invited you know,” he stated very matter-of-factly.

Rey hoped Ben could not catch onto Poe’s blatant feign of surprise, hand clutching his heart in the epitome of melodramatic effect, “ _Ben_ , do you mean to tell me you do not plan on attending?”

It was nearly comical the frustrated confusedness of Ben’s demeanor, and he very nearly widely gestured with his arms but stopped himself in an almighty twitch of his hands, “I do not even comprehend what you are asking. I despise balls as you very well know.”

Poe sniffed and pointed out a rather convincing argument, “My knack for dragging you to balls has only ever been a good thing if I recall. The most recent example being the one I forced you to attend where you met our lovely Rey, and all the ones following that one you even seemed to enjoy as you _pined_ from afar—”

Ben grumbled in warning, “ _Stop speaking_.”

“Oh, but it could be entertaining,” Rey chimed in brightly and smiled at him with encouragement, “I haven’t mingled in society or danced in so long a time. A ball would be _lovely_.”

His expression melted from dark to sorrowful, as if he was loathed to disappoint her again, “You, of course, would still be welcome to go if you wish it.”

Rey played her part, looking crestfallen, “I could not go alone.”

“Poe would be there—”

Poe cut his friend off with colorful insults mostly meant in jest, “You _daft cow_! Stop being a _lazy sod_ and take your wife to a ball.”

Her husband’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped just slightly at the insults from his friend’s mouth. He seemed wholly unsure of where to even _begin_ responding to Poe. Rey pushed through the widening crack in his armor.

“Please,” she stooped to beg.

His eyes lingered on hers and seemed to weaken the longer she held up her pleading gaze—Rey had him, she knew it, “I won’t go without you.”

Ben pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a long, suffering sigh.

* * *

The trio arrived together and entered the room to be introduced at the same time. Rey was wearing a dark purple, as she was still in mourning colors technically. Out of a sense of decorum, Ben had allowed Rey to be led by him through the throng of socialites with her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow. The three stood together as many families and people introduced themselves to them and Rey was struck with familiarity from the first time she met Ben. When Rey looked up to watch his expression as he was introduced yet again to a stranger, she recognized it as the same haughty, unmoved look. Now, with experienced eyes, she understood his tenseness for his general reaction to discomfort relating to social panic. He caught her open stare and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

“You look like the night we met.”

He winced, probably in memory of insulting her within her earshot and her abject refusal of him. When he did not look back at her, she silently hoped he would ask her to dance again. Her answer would be different this time around, she silently promised to him, hoping that was evident in her intentional behavior towards him ever since he had arrived from buying oranges. She was trying her best and she could only pray he would see it and he would know what it was for. Long she waited, however, and the more his arm tensed against her hold on it, and his jaw locked, and she knew the longer it would take him to ask her to dance the less likely it would be that he would ask her at all.

At long last, a younger looking gentleman—but no younger than her—approached and was introduced and good-naturedly asked if Rey was available for the next dance. Rey could feel Ben’s arm tense very much underneath her hand, and when she looked up at him—not looking for his permission, but a sign, anything, that would say, yes, she _would_ be engaged for the next dance—his nose briefly flared before he let out a defeated sigh and looked pointedly away. Rey accepted the dance.

Rey did her best to not glance at Ben standing next to Poe as she shuffled her way through the dance, trying to exchange smiles and pleasantries with her partner. After it ended, he thanked her and complimented her and was promptly stood to the side by a harried-looking Poe. Her old dancing favorite from when she was unmarried in her old county extended a hand like old times, and she set hers atop it. The next dance began, and they fell into an easy rhythm, both being rather proficient dancers—but neither was there to dance, they were there to discuss.

“Was this part of your plan?” He asked as she made a circle around him.

“Not exactly, I was rather hoping for a different dancing partner, if you take my meaning,” she replied, hoping he took no offense.

Ever the sharp-minded, Poe smirked devilishly in that way that made the young women of her old county swoon (to no avail, apparently) as he, in turn, circled around her, “I do, but you must have realized what an awful stubborn prude he is. Perhaps he needs negative encouragement instead?”

“How so?”

“Jealousy can be a powerful motivator,” he gave her a playful wink from the hopping circle they had linked hands with inside the dance line.

Rey bit her lip, thinking it over, “Is that very kind?”

“Not exactly,” he spun her, “but the ends justify the means do they not?”

She did not respond to that, not entirely sure if she agreed, but when Poe introduced her to a man next to him and offered her hand to dance, she accepted. The thought of Ben watching her dance from afar and pining after her every move was not a wholly unappealing scene for her to imagine. In fact, something feminine and proud kept her from glancing at him in her five consecutive dances with other gentlemen, and her head was held high atop her shoulders as she allowed herself to enjoy the old fondness of dancing with strangers. During her dances, she had a long time to imagine what her husband’s face looked like as he watched her—if he was watching her at all, but no, she could certainly feel someone watching her. Would his eyes be dark and full of predatory promise for daring to enjoy others’ company? Or would they be softened by the sight of her enjoying herself no matter who with? He could be angry with her or irritated or frustrated, and her stomach knotted itself with all the potentially delicious possibilities.

However, those possibilities were cut short when she chanced a glance at him as she looked over her shoulder in a spin, and his eyes seemed to arrest her very soul. Once she had locked eyes with him, it was impossible to tear herself away after, but she managed to make it through the rest of the dance without missing a single step. Rey had not accounted for the fact that her husband had never once shown the propensity to be a brutish or territorial and possessive man—the only example being the “buying her” circumstances of their engagement—and therefore there had been no trace of darkness or heat in his eyes directed at her. He did, however, appear terribly heartbroken and wistful as he watched her, and guilt nearly choked her. Poe was a fool, she was a fool, jealousy was very clearly not an appropriate tool for someone who already had issues with self-worth (of which she was positive he possessed exorbitant amounts of negativity in regards to) to begin with. She could barely disengage agreeably from her partner in her haste to stand in front of him and right her apparent wrong.

She held out her small and shaky hand to him, “Dance with me, Ben, please.”

Hesitantly, his fingers closed around hers and they took their places across from one another in the line as a rich violin struck up a slow and sensuous tune. Around each other they gracefully moved, eyes never breaking contact. They met in the middle of the line with one of her hands cupping his shoulder and the other held like a fragile bird in one of his. Prickling the skin on the back of her neck, he leaned just slightly into her and spoke softly into her ear sounding very much like he had accepted something terrible yet felt it was deserved.

“I know that I met you while you were young and beautiful,” he spun her out and back into him and she was shocked at how graceful of a dancer he was considering his hatred for it, “and still you remain both. I know it was wrong of me to steal you from your youth and covet you as my own—”

They separated by the way of the dance but not before his name was punched out of her on a whisper, “ _Ben_ —”

Together they came back again and slowly walked a circle, Ben on the outside and burning her with his intense gaze, “—and should you wish to strike out on your own, I would not be a hindrance to you.”

An incredulous snarl tried to work its way from Rey’s beating chest and she tempered it back down even as she could feel molten fire in her eyes, pinning him as they switched places effortlessly, “I have come a very long way to see _you_ , yet you suggest I take a lover only because you cannot convince yourself that I—young and beautiful as you say—could make a willful decision to choose you over any of these men. I do not comprehend your sorely convoluted thoughts.”

Her hand slipped from his as they circled the couple to their right before leading into the middle with hands that clasped and pulled, “ _They_ have been the causes of your smiles and laughter this evening, _not I_ ,” he whispered as they crossed the middle in passing.

“That is no one’s fault but your own propensity for inaction,” he twirled her delicately like a dreidel and brought them back into one another’s careful embrace, “and in any such case I laugh at their jokes just as you or I laugh at Poe’s. Am I to expect a divorce so you may marry Poe?”

Her joke fell flat, but it did cause him to blush prettily and frown down at her petulantly, “Please do not patronize me. You know of what I speak,” he gave a harsh swallow against an invisible lump in his throat and looked quite sad down upon her, “I am incapable of giving you what you want.”

“You speak quite matter-of-factly about what it is that I want.”

He seemed to ignore her statement and continued to speak to the gentle steps toward and away from each other that they made, “I should not have lost my temper as I did before I left. My shortcomings are no fault of yours.”

In contradiction to his apology about his temper, her own temper spiked, and she snapped, “You shouldn’t have _run away_ is what you _should not have_ done. You _left_ me.”

“I cannot apologize for what was in each other’s best interests,” he paused as he rounded the couple to their right and continued when the dance brought him back to her with his infuriating words, “Our grief was manifesting in such a way that you would eventually come to regret.”

“ _You have no comprehension of my regrets_ ,” she reached up and hissed into his ear.

Though somewhat startled, he remained bullheaded, “That changes nothing.”

“How so?”

“Can you honestly say that out of anyone here—were we strangers—that you would choose me of your own free will?” He had a somewhat twisted and sad smile to match his sardonic tone.

The dance came to a close, and she considered his words thoughtfully. However, before she could respond—yet again—he cut her off with a bow and stalked away. She followed closely on his heels so much so that when Poe intercepted his hasty retreat, she nearly planted her face between his shoulder blades. Despite his friends’ morose expressions, Poe took no hint and clapped his old friend on the shoulders with unbridled glee.

“Have my eyes deceived me or have you at last shared a dance with your wife you _absolute trollop_?”

It seemed that at last Ben’s somber expression and Rey’s contemplative one gave him pause, and he appeared to wish he could eat his words, “What is the matter now?”

Rey looked up to see Ben hunching his shoulders and seeming to look very small and defeated, and he spoke very quietly, “ _I would like to leave now_.”

She had to nod and agree—her and Poe’s plan to get him into society had miserably backfired, and Rey was all that could convince him to lift himself from his own foolish head—and she reached up to lay a comforting hand on his arm. Before she could, however, he shrugged her off and walked from them in a flagrant attempt at escape. Really, the duo ought to have known that social situations of any kind were not likely to bring out the best in someone so content to subject himself to constant isolation.

Poe gave a dismayed sigh, “It would not be the Ben that we love if he were not deliberately stubborn.”

* * *

The carriage ride back to the apartment was silent, and Rey kept to her end as opposed to the ride they shared the day of the funeral. The depressed state of his moping gave her blessed silence to contemplate what he had said to her during their dance. They continued to mope and think as they entered the apartment and changed for bed in separate rooms before crawling into the one bed. She could see that he was actively trying not to look at her just as she was actively looking at him unabashed. He blew out the candle and left them in darkness.

Rey almost had fallen asleep when she heard him whisper wistfully, “I apologize if I ruined your night. You looked very beautiful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind comments, and I'm sorry if I don't respond to all of them, but just know that I read every single one and appreciate them very much!
> 
> Also with the dance in this chapter...is it possible that I imagined it to the same song that Darcy and Elizabeth danced to in P & P (2005)? Very possible, quite.
> 
> In other news I also wanted to point out that I have a tumblr ( https://reylo-garbage-can.tumblr.com/ ) if anyone ever wants to interact (or read some salty TROS posts) I'd be happy to :)


	12. The Emerald Locket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rey just makes Ben blush a million times because she loves to see it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gave me emotional whiplash to write, I truly cannot imagine what it will be like to read, but I could not for the life of me get it to blend so I hope it's...enjoyable :))) 
> 
> Also, this is technically the final chapter of the story, though the thirteenth chapter will contain an epilogue (yes it will contain little beans and disgustingly domestic bliss, I'm already ready).

Rey’s already troubled sleep was interrupted a little after midnight by strangled and muffled noises. At first, she attempted to burrow her head further into her pillow in a sleepy attempt to block them out, but then something shook the bed and her along with it. Upright she bolted, her heart pounding as the bed gave another tremulous shake. Her fear gave way to sympathy when she looked to the culprit. It dawned on her then that she had not heard him get up at his usual time for his walk, and so it seemed Ben was suffering from what appeared to be some horrific night terrors. Recalling how he had confessed before he left that the walking did little to help him any longer as well as the dark circles bruising his eyes, Rey rationalized that he likely was too exhausted to attempt the obsolete nightly routine. Now, he had witnessed her nightmares once before, but this was her first experience with his, and she could not say that she did not feel guilt for her former engulfing curiosity.

Ben was turned towards her on the bed but with that large space of sheet separating them. He laid on his side clutching his pillow with pale, white hands, knuckles popping with the stress and force of how tight his grip was. Even in sleep, he seemed to take care not to inconvenience those around him as she recognized the strangled noises she had heard before to be where he had unconsciously buried his face into the pillow, muffling his cries as he trembled violently. The sight was more than Rey could bear for longer than a single second, but it took her longer to decide if she should risk startling him lest he lash out in his state of fear. It was not that she necessarily feared him hurting her, but more so that she feared his inevitable self-loathing should he do so by accident.

She decided on gentleness, in the end. A hesitant hand bridged the gap between them and lightly stroked the side of his face. Just as soon as her fingertips made contact with his skin, however, his hand instinctively shot out and grabbed her wrist with iron steel. It was startling and she was afraid she had caused him a fright, so she attempted to wriggle her hand from his grasp.

The moment she made to pull her hand back, he, still sleeping, whimpered a pained sounding, “ _No_ ,” and hauled her hand back to its former position. Incoherent from the claws of sleep and knowing not what he did, he pressed his cheek up and into the palm of her hand when she did not immediately accommodate his sleepy demand. It was an odd sight, a grown man nearly debasing himself for a kind bit of human contact, looking just about like a dog wanting to be pet. Like a dog, he even nearly whined with his want for it, though rather than a canine whine, it was rather a very human, wet sob.

Though his insistent grip was bordering on painful, Rey was not prepared to be cruel—not to him, not after everything. It was an odd sensation when her mind cleared, and Rey realized that in that moment she was _needed_ , she held the power to comfort and console where it had always been him comforting and consoling before. Feeling bold from it, she shuffled closer to him until her face was close enough to feel the coolness of his breath as he heaved and pushed out gusts of rattling breath through gritted teeth. Her hand pressed against his cheek once again, and she let her fingers caress his temple, giving an occasional soothing graze of her nails through his scalp intermittently. In an instant his grip loosened around her wrist, and he sighed sweetly despite twitches of pain that squeezed his closed eyes further shut.

“ _Ben_ ,” she whispered, “wake up now.”

Heeding her command, his dark eyes flew open, and even in the dark, she could see the hot shame flood and roll over his features. The air in his lungs hitched, and he reacted with breathtaking speed, dropping her hand as if it caused him physical pain. Another sob forced its way from him, agonizing by the sound of it, and he rolled away in an attempt to flee. This, Rey would not allow him to do again. Before he could fully swing his legs over the side of the bed or rise into a sitting position at the very least, Rey flung her arms around his waist with utter abandon, clinging to him and pulling him back to unceremoniously flop back on their sides.

Burying her face into the back of his neck, she whispered to him, “Stop running away.”

Against the tide of goosebumps her whisper gave across his skin, he shuddered and responded sounding very much like a lost boy, “What would you have me do?”

“Just stay and tell me what you were dreaming.”

“Th—,” he cut himself off as a violent tremble ripped a soft whimper from him, and he twisted to bury his face in the pillow once again, but Rey was patient. She held him tighter in response, a pressing reminder that he was safe, and she slid her flat palm to rub a soothing circle over his heart. After a time—a long time or a short time, Rey was unable to guess—his heart slowed from its insistent throbbing against the confines of his chest and the press of her palm, and Rey brushed a kiss to the knob at the base of his neck.

Leaning over his shoulder just slightly, she grazed the shell of his ear peeking from behind his dark hair, and she whispered again, “Talk to me.”

From her position just over his broad shoulder, she watched as his hands rhythmically clenched and unclenched the sheets until at long last, his fists went slack, and his fingers unfurled to lay flat and smooth on the surface of the bed. He gave a sweet-sounding sigh, and Rey smiled to herself as his muscles seemed to melt against her mold at his back. With every breath she gave against his spine, he took another, feeling the way her lungs worked with the air rather than against it and mimicked her. His rational mind seemed to come back with every measured breath as the stifling panic retracted its claws from his subconscious.

“The scars,” he spoke at last, his voice conveying that he was equal parts afraid yet had wrestled back control of himself at last.

The heat of where she was pressed against his spine—and subsequently the vicious scarring—grew hotter by mention, and she encouraged him to continue with another pressing kiss into his nape and mumbled against his skin, “Where do they come from?”

Where her lips had tickled his skin, small bumps raised beneath them, and he shivered but forged on in a ghostly whisper, “I had a cruel captain in the navy. He metered out punishments liberally.”

“Liberally meaning?”

“At his discretion.”

She squeezed him tighter yet again, “I thought you were a lieutenant?”

“Another kind of punishment,” he breathed shakily, and she resumed her careful circles over his heart again to soothe him, “I was good with ships from what my father had taught me, but, well, _he_ was a pirate—”

Not exactly meaning to interrupt him but unable to tamper her shock, Rey gasped a graceless, “ _What_?” Though she did suppose when she had asked Leia so long ago if Han had been a sailor, she had responded with a very vague, “something like that,” which rather seemed to fit the narrative.

A chuff of laughter escaped him for a moment before the gravity of the conversation mellowed him once more, “I suppose I never told you about that. He was never caught—my mother’s political connections helped with that—but he was well-known for his elusiveness and when I, his son, joined and was placed under Captain Snoke—he—for _anything_ —”

Rey cut him off as his breathing had started up its former irregularity and harried him forward in his explanation, “And then he promoted you?”

His hands, still shaking from the phantom hold of the nightmare, came up to hold hers, and his voice was a mere shade, “The lieutenant, he was the one to—but then when I,” he turned his face just so into the pillow again, and she strained to listen, “then it was _me_ , the punishing— _I_ made men’s backs look like mine.”

The moment did not exist to console his guilty conscience, though Rey could hardly fault him for following orders from a superior, but she insisted he press on by giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “How did you get out?”

“I killed him.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, “You—”

Ben’s voice was frighteningly calm even as he spoke against the pillow, “During a terrible storm, I pushed him off the ship, and he was too old to stay afloat. Someone saw me, he didn’t tell but—”

Rey finished his thought for him when he gave an abrupt pause, “You did not wish to be captain in his stead.”

“No.”

“So then?”

“Mother made deals in London when I confessed in a letter,” he seemed to press himself further back against her, “she did so for my promise that I would take over the estate if she did.”

“And you did,” she whispered rather lamely.

“I did.”

“And then you met me.”

A brief pause of silence and then, “I did.”

“And you’re safe now.”

“Am I?” It was said less as a question and more of a confession, as if the very existence of the question itself had troubled him for so long.

Rey smiled as she kissed that same spot again, “You’re safe with me. Rest easy now.”

She heard no more words from him and allowed herself to close her eyes and sigh when she felt his breaths even out against her. When she woke in the morning, she was the first to do so, which marked the first time she had ever woken up before Ben. Rey attributed this mild victory to his desperate need for sleep after his weeks and months of troubling nights. Honoring his needs, she gently disentangled herself from him and slipped from bed, and as she did so, his brow furrowed, and he gave an unconscious whine at the lack of warmth she had been providing. While the idea of holding him until he woke up sounded very much appealing, there was something Rey had made up her mind to do.

Pulling the blanket up over his shoulder to protect him from the autumn chill, she gave a sweet kiss to the space between his closed eyes and murmured, “I will be back.”

* * *

While Rey was out on a rainy day in London, she had plenty of time to work herself up into knots at what she would return to. What would Ben’s behavior be after the night they shared? Did he remember it at all or think that it had been a dream? Rey chewed her lip in consideration. The last thing she wanted was for him to regress back into himself like the day before and pretend it had not happened. Unfortunately, she figured this to be the more likely scenario seeing as his first reaction last night to her witnessing his vulnerability had been shame and embarrassment. She supposed that this very fear was incidentally her reasoning behind going out in the morning before he woke.

When she walked back through the entrance, the apartment was eerily silent. Rey pulled off her coat and hung it on the rack, wondering if he still had yet to wake up at all. That was the moment the smell hit her nose and caused her to freeze and slowly turn to her right. He had been so quiet that she had not even noticed him or the dining room in particular. The sight was nearly comical, but Rey dared not to laugh. Ben was sat in front of a grand spread of breakfast looking tense and awkward, his leg bouncing beneath the table and his hands wringing together. Belatedly, he remembered decorum and hastened to stand at the table to receive her, though in his haste, his knee made a sharp impact with the table, and Rey couldn’t help but wince in sympathy even if it made his face turn red.

“I made breakfast for you,” he gestured to the sprawling table, “er, for us.”

Stunned, Rey walked to stand before the table and took in what looked to be an expertly made breakfast, “Whatever for?”

“A thank you and,” his eyes cast themselves downward, “I suppose an apology as well.”

Rey nodded in sign for him to continue, hoping he was about to say the words she wanted to hear, and he continued albeit in a distressingly stunted and formal manner, “Thank you for last night. You have helped me through my struggles, which has shown me that I have not given you the same courtesy for which I apologize. From your point of view, I did abandon you, though it had not been my intent. This, I hoped would be a gesture that I at least intend to not fall short on my promise that you would never go hungry again.”

It was not _exactly_ what Rey was hoping to hear, but progress was progress, and she would not be ungrateful when he was _trying._ He waited, anxiously rubbing his thumbs against his fingertips by his sides, as she absorbed his words and thought of how best to respond. Intentional flustering, she felt was the best route, expressing both gratefulness _and_ expressing some level of dissatisfaction all in one.

“Thank you, _darling_ ,” she smiled and stood on her toes to give a chaste kiss to his cheek and sat down at the place he had set for her, “it looks _lovely_!”

The sudden use of the term of endearment seemed to freeze him in place, gaping like a fish, so she grabbed his hand and grinned sweetly up at him, “Will you be joining me anytime soon?”

Similar to his clumsy standing, he hastened to please and sat down despite, again, hitting his knee on the leg of the table in doing so. He would not pick up his fork until she did, and she could feel his gaze intent on studying her reaction, so she was sure to appear to enjoy the meal he had made—no acting really necessary because it seemed for so rich a man, he was a skilled cook. Then, at last satisfied, he tucked into his own meal, and Rey was quite pleased at the sight. Grief had made him a thinner, shrunken version of himself as he had eaten for over two months little more than a bird, only delicately taking what was absolutely needed and being unable to stomach anything more. In time, Rey hoped to see his cheekbones become less prominent and gaunt as they appeared to her then.

“Leia told me of when she taught you to cook,” Rey was relieved to not feel a deep, aching pain upon saying her name anymore, and she could see a similar transformation within Ben, “she thought you had probably forgotten how. I think she would be very content to see you had not.”

He carefully chewed a bite of egg before responding, “Yes, that was before I went to live with my uncle. He was not so good a cook as she and kept no servants, so I employed her teachings often enough I suppose,” he ate another bite of his breakfast to avoid adding more to the discussion, the incredibly adept conversationalist that he was.

“She tried to teach me, but it seems you were the more proficient student between the two of us,” her eyes twinkled in teasing—to everyone else, teasing meant to capitalize on the other’s defects, but with Ben, who was so often made uncomfortable with compliments, it meant to jest about his strengths.

Her teasing was awarded with a dusting blush but was overturned by him setting his fork back to his plate and looking at it somberly, “I miss her.”

“I know,” Rey set her hand over top of his and traced the row of his knuckles with her thumb. She could feel the conversation taking a turn for honesty and openness, and while it had been what she came to London seeking, it did not make it that much easier.

“I haven’t been missing her properly,” he moved the food on his plate in an old attempt to keep distracted while he was speaking, “I’ve been too busy missing _her_.”

“Your mother understands.”

She watched him bite his lip and blink back what certainly appeared to be tears before he hung his head to hide his face, shoulders shaking just so, and she squeezed his hand into both of hers, “What is happening inside your mind? Please tell me.”

“Do you forgive me?” He surprised her and looked her in the eye at last.

Yes, she wanted to say, but she wasn’t sure what for, “Forgive you?”

“I’ve thought it over and over and it must have been me who brought the fever into the house from visiting the tenants—”

“Ben!” She interjected with increasing alarm.

He only pressed on as guilt forces one to do, “—and I kept checking on her, it must have been me—”

She pushed out from her seat and confessed the very thing she had been holding within herself in the long months that had passed, “If anyone is to blame, it is _me. I_ was the one who could not save them.”

His expression was stricken as if she had insulted his very existence, “That is _not true_ —”

She shook her head incredulously at his eager willingness to write off her blame and place the shared weight on only himself, “ _Don’t you see_? It does not _matter_ who is to blame. It was an act of nature, and we are powerless to its whims.”

“I wish _nature_ had taken _me_ instead,” the statement was said with an air of petulance, but Rey knew that it rang entirely true of everything he had been thinking since the funeral.

She shook her head, “Do not do that to me, Ben. Take that back. You’re all I have left now.”

“You wanted to know my mind, and now you do,” he ran a shaking hand through his hair, and she could visibly see his sorrowful frustration build in the tautness of his neck and the vein popping on his temple, “I _wish_ it had been me, and she would still be here, and you would be happy and with those you love—”

“You _fool_ , I love _you_!” Perhaps, when she arrived in London with a particular set of words in mind, she had not exactly planned on shouting them at him with so much vitriol—then again, it kept her attitude towards him consistent, despite changed feelings and the lot.

Shockingly, her confession did not woo him into a state of utter awe, and he shouted back at her from his tense place in his chair, “I _know_!”

“Pardon?” Her entire reasoning in coming to London was to get him to understand that she did, in fact, love him, but suddenly, she felt a tad foolish standing before him over the breakfast table in a shouting match.

“I know you do,” he sighed harshly, anger calming but the frustration and terseness of his tone remained, “but I don’t _want_ for you to love me because I’m all you have left. I don’t _want_ you to love me because I trapped you into doing so. I just want you to love _me_.”

“I _do_ , I _have_ , and I will _continue_ to do so, so help me God, if you’ll just _allow me_.”

He gulped as she took deep, calming breaths, “Are you sure—”

Her hand twitched in a desperate manner, at the absolute end of her wits with him, “Stop doubting me or I swear I’ll—”

It was alright that he had cut her off because Rey really had no idea what she was about to swear to God and kingdom and country, “Rey, last night, I confessed to you that I have killed a man,” her breath stopped abruptly, “He may have been a guilty man, but he made sure that I tormented plenty of innocent ones. You have to be sure.”

“It is funny to me that I have wondered about your troubled past for so long a time, and now that I have found out, I find it so inconsequential,” his eyes narrowed skeptically, and she came close to laughing at the sudden feeling of freedom—she considered that perhaps the frustration he caused her might have forced her to go mad, “I do not care.”

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she sniped.

Tears began to slip down his cheeks despite his face being suspiciously void of any particular expression, and Rey held her breath. She did not even realize her own cheeks were wet until her nose gave a resigned little sniffle. Then, like the breaking of dawn, a radiant smile started to work its way onto his lips. It was a little lopsided and tight-lipped—not like the ones she loved that showed his endearingly crooked teeth—but it was joy like she had not seen him express in many long months. Against all odds, she started to laugh, thinking about how their breakfast had started, where it had gone, and how it had ended (not quite ended, though she figured the food was long cold).

She remembered why she had gone out that morning and a grand smile took hold of her, “Stay right there!”

Rey was already walking back to the coat rack when he cried a futile, “But—”

The present was enclosed in her fist, and she walked back to him with something resembling caution though she was not sure what exact thing she had to be cautious about. All the same, a nervous flutter erupted in her stomach, but she smiled down at him—still sitting where she had commanded him. Taking one lasting breath for courage, she thrust her fist out to him in offering before uncurling her fingers to reveal what laid on her palm. He plucked the silver locket from her hand with care and studied it closely, thumb rubbing over the emerald stone set in the center.

It was her turn for her hands to wring together with nerves, and Rey began to ramble, “I got it this morning—perhaps it’s too feminine, but green is my favorite color. If it is too much then I suppose you could just keep it in your pocket or wear it under your shirts—”

“Does it open?” Her nerves quieted when he looked up at her in what appeared to be uninhibited awe as he held it gingerly in his large hands that nearly dwarfed the delicate trinket.

Rey nodded and leaned over his shoulder, one hand pressing into his opposite shoulder blade while the other pointed out the clasp on the side. He thumbed it open to find the lock of her hair she had placed curled inside and bound by a green ribbon. Delicately, with reverence, he touched the ribbon.

“This is the same ribbon you wear in your hair.”

She let her chin prop on his shoulder, effectively draping herself against his back, “I got this so whenever you run off, for whatever reason, you won’t leave me behind.”

Ben’s fingers closed the locket and pressed it deep into his palm like it was sacred, “I won’t be running off again. Not ever again.”

In reward, Rey allowed her lips to give a lingering kiss in the hollow just below his cheekbone. She smiled against his skin when she could feel his cheek warm underneath her mouth.

His throat cleared when she pulled away, and he seemed unsettled yet again but in a lovable sort of way, “I feel guilty that I did not think to get _you_ something.”

He was an absolute idiot, and she could only throw her arms around his neck, laughing and peppering kisses to the side of his head. Ben put up quite the show that he was only humoring her, but he smiled and tried to keep his face tilted just so away from her, so she could not see the full extent of his bashfulness.

“Have mercy on me,” he pleaded mockingly though still blushing like a maiden, “I do not know my crime.”

“That isn’t what this was for and besides,” she gestured to the breakfast spread, “you personally cooked an entire meal on my behalf.”

He ducked his head in the fit of timidity, “Well you have not finished it, so what am I supposed to believe?”

Rey gave a final smack of her lips to his temple and sat back into her seat to polish off her plate, “Yes, apologies, it seems I got distracted,” her eyes sparkled with mischief from behind her cold biscuit.

When she finished the meal and looked at him in triumph, her look fast changed to mock outrage as he swooped to grab the dishes from the table to bus to the scullery. She followed him waxing indignation that he would dare to clean up after her when he had been the one to cook the meal. He merely smiled and quietly set himself upon his task, and she had to content herself with crossing her arms and openly watching him. As her own form of retribution, she showered him in an abundance of compliments such as how attractive he was with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Rey chuckled with glee at each duck of his head or variation of, “no you are mistaken.”

As he wiped his wet hands on a dish towel, he caught her eye and smiled again, “I’m not sure what to do now.”

It was not a statement of what physically they should do, Rey was well-aware. He made no move to elaborate because they each knew it was unnecessary. There was something anticlimactic about the airing of their feelings. Rey telling him that she loved him after all they had been through felt monumental and akin to causing a great change. However, they were _already_ married—the single largest change two people in love with each other could make—and fundamentally at the core of the matter, nothing was changing, not at all really. Besides, had Ben not acted like a lovesick fool for months before this day? Had she not subtly been feeling all of the side effects of love for far longer than those hours when she had stood to lose him?

“Let’s go to a theater,” she replied instead of all of the things she had been thinking, “I’ve always wanted to go to one.

Looking incredibly soft and incredibly affectionate, he nodded, “Alright.”

* * *

Poe had visited earlier in the day (prepared to assist them in making amends in any way he could) but made a fantastic excuse—meaning completely transparent—to leave as soon as he took notice to how they did not skirt nervously around one another any longer. Ben had joked that he was quite relieved to see him leave him alone, and Rey had swatted his arm in defense of their friend. In the evening they claimed a secluded box in the theater where they could be separate from the crowd yet still able to see them. The show being performed was not particularly fascinating to either one of them, but the tomatoes being thrown, and the uninhibited rowdiness of the dreaded pit crowd made up for what it lacked. Occasionally, Ben would catch her off guard when a genuine laugh would be startled from him at the blatant disrespect for the arts that the pit viewers displayed, and Rey would be swept away by the affection that surged at the sight of him expressing joy.

“I love watching you laugh,” and she gave a proud beam at the faint pink that dusted his cheeks at the compliment.

“You only say that so that I do not feel wretched for sounding alike to scraping rusted metal.”

Rey swatted his arm, “You sound much prettier in laughter than you do in degrading yourself.”

She dearly loved embarrassing him in good faith, but when he veered into her space and left a sound kiss on her lips, it was her turn to turn a pretty shade of pink. The sight of his requital seemed to shake laughter from his chest, but Rey was not to be outdone.

Grabbing the locket that he wore _over_ his shirt (she very much liked to be able to look over and see it), she used it to pull his head into her space and whispered conspiratorially, “I would like to leave.”

A frown wormed onto his countenance, and Rey very nearly rolled her eyes as he queried, “Are you not enjoying—”

A mischievous grin interrupted him, and Rey let him know that on no uncertain terms, “I would enjoy you very much more were we alone.”

Ben’s throat bobbed and he looked away in, once again, abashment, but nevertheless he rallied himself to stand and offered his hand as any gentlemen ought to do.

* * *

Rey could not tell if Ben was eager or nervous—she understood the feeling, their last two dalliances were mutually scarring or had a disastrous resolution. However, the way Ben tried to conceal the slight tremor in his hand as he turned the key in the lock soothed Rey’s nerves and made her feel less alone in her reservations. It seemed that closing the door behind them was a very interesting activity for Ben as he turned away from her to do so and fiddled with the ring of keys before facing her. His throat continuously bobbed, and he seemed to be physically looking with his eyes for something to break the silence. It was delightful.

Ben must have landed on the dining area as a reasonable topic as he gestured toward the table, “I could make—well only if—are you hungry?”

As she had been waiting to do and as he surely knew she was going to do, Rey surged up onto her toes to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling his head down to meet hers for a clumsy yet nonetheless fervent kiss. She recognized that she was not exactly a scholar at the act, but what she lacked in experience and skill, she more than made up for in determination. Maybe it was just the fact that she had never kissed anyone else before or that she generally enjoyed who she was with, but Ben seemed to be rather adept at it. At the beginning, she had startled him as she had all but jumped into him, and he had to take several steps back to accommodate the shift in balance. Once his arms had wrapped around her waist, lifting her just slightly off the ground so that she did not quite have to dangle off his neck, he had reciprocated with great enthusiasm. In kissing he seemed to find boldness, and he gave intermittent nips at her bottom lip. At first she was afraid that he had _bitten her, the brute,_ but they were gentle and immediately soothed by seceding languid presses of his plush lips sliding against hers that she began to develop a sort of penchant for them.

Ben gave one last peck to her mouth before he tilted his head away. They took their time to catch their breath and study each other’s expressions up close as she was still hauled up off the floor and against him by her waist. Her fingers softly tugged at the ends of his hair that curled against his nape, and his eyes were very tender, the line of his mouth just slightly curved into a gentle smile.

“You’re much better at this than I am,” she said, trying not to sound very jealous—she _wasn’t_ , not _exactly._

“Well that is a shock to hear. Admittedly, I have nothing really to base anything from,” his tone was teasing, yet she knew an assurance when she heard one.

“You have to be joking, not ever?”

When he shook his head the ends of his hair tickled her fingertips, “Are you really so surprised? Or have you forgotten how lacking my social skills were when _we_ first met?”

“But you’re rich, those things don’t matter when you have money.”

“In some cases that was true, but then I confess they scared me,” she laughed and pressed her nose against his, and, yes, she could certainly imagine a forward woman telling him exactly what she wanted frightening him. Not that forward or headstrong women were unappealing—she had yelled at him _plenty_ of times and he was still here holding her—but when it came to certain _intimacies_ , Rey could only imagine how quickly he would have fled from a stranger.

But, of course, Ben _kept speaking_ , “I never really enjoyed the company of—well, not exactly, I did not _dislike_ ,” he stammered, “you know as Dameron enjoys but does not _enjoy_ the company of women—”

“So you preferred the company of men?”

“ _No_ ,” he blushed furiously and almost sat her down, but she chuckled and clung tighter to his shoulders, “no—not that I think any less of him for, well, you know, it is not a bad thing, I am happy to see him happy—but I mean to say I didn’t enjoy the company of _anyone_. In that way, I mean.”

“You don’t have to make up a story that you’ve never loved anyone else but me just to make me happy,” she giggled and teased.

He chuckled too and shifted his hold on her to hoist her a bit higher, “I mean it, Rey, I thought something was _wrong with me_ —”

“Don’t be silly, Ben, plenty of people go unmarried perfectly happy and there’s nothing _wrong_ with them—”

“This is entirely off topic.”

“You’re right,” she nodded dutifully, “I think we should go to bed.”

To her dismay, he dropped her back so that her feet landed on the floor, and for a moment she thought he perhaps misinterpreted her words and thought she actually wanted _to sleep_. Then, however, he tore a startled squeak from her when he swept her legs out from under her and hoisted her bodily against his chest, balancing her weight in his arms. Instinctively, her arms wrapped around his neck once more, though she knew she was in little danger of being dropped—yet the only other time she had every been carried like this had been when she was _in labor_ and, really, she did remember how unsettling it was to be so high off the ground. When he took the stairs up to the bedroom, however, she found a happy game in distracting him by planting kisses against his throat and jaw—some innocent and some claiming that caused his throat to hum against her. Without warning or preamble, he deposited her on the bed, and Rey laughed when she bounced on the mattress as he clambered to hover over her. Ben paused.

Rey lifted her hand up to cup his cheek, “What’s wrong?” When he rolled his lips against each other in his default nervous habit, she clarified the situation, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

His face looked equal parts pained and mildly irritated, “I would very much like to, but I’m not ready to—”

“To be a father again?”

“Yet,” he gave her a meaningful look, a promise for later, “not yet.”

She planted a sweet kiss and let her head fall back against the pillow once more, fingers tracing the lines of his face above her, “I understand. In the meantime, there are ways to get around such things. The rest can come later.”

(When Rey was first intimate with her husband, she had mentioned how she felt the act _could_ be agreeable. The second time, she found it _quite_ agreeable.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I ended it with almost smut again. I cannot write smut, I beg forgiveness (I thought to rate it M anyway due to some of the sensitive-ish content just to be safe). 
> 
> If there's anything you might want to see in the epilogue let me know, I can't promise to include everything and I already have several things planned, but I don't mind getting inspiration from others too :) 
> 
> (never fear, I'm not leaving Han in limbo)


	13. The Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months and years into the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Thank you so much to everyone who has read, left kudos, and especially to those who left comments and encouragements, your words and support have meant a lot :)

The first thing that Ben and Rey decided to do as a well and truly married couple was to take the traditional tour of the country that they had neglected to do upon saying their vows over a year prior. It was for good reason that they had not at the time considering the circumstances they married under as well as Rey’s former, scathing hatred for him. Rather than planning the trip in advance, they departed directly from the apartment after a week had passed—a week in which Poe ruthlessly poked fun at the pair for their sudden sickeningly domestic contentment. Their friend, upon catching their fingers intertwined below the table for the umpteenth time, declared his preference for their angst and pining after one another, but he made sure to flash a wink in Rey’s direction for clarification of the nature of his teasing. Ben, Rey chanced an educated guess, had been secretly relieved when their carriage departed London _without_ his oldest friend’s good-natured teasing.

They travelled all across the country, county to county, and saw landmarks and earthly wonders that stole her breath. Ben had seen most of them before, but he was more than enthusiastic in his efforts for her to see them all too, after all, she had rarely left her county when she had been under Plutt’s version of care. Sometimes he would read passages from his favorite books to her as they lounged atop the great roots of some magnificent old tree in one county, and other times, he would whisper sonnets he had memorized into her ear as they overlooked a fascinating ravine in another.

Rey was surprised to find that there was still yet more she had to learn of him despite all she had discovered already. Some traits she found silly such as his mysterious habit for eating oranges though he did not like them purely out of habit from his sea-faring days. It was silly to her that he still feared contracting scurvy when he could have all the food and nutrients he wished for in his grand estate, yet instead he fell back on the old sailor’s faithful fruit. Other truths about him were less jest-worthy such as discovering where exactly he spent his most formative years. In Northern England they had stopped to visit his Uncle Luke and tarried a night in his parish. The old man had carved out some time to speak with them but after several odd comments that either were very wise or the rambling of a fool (or in a rare case, perhaps both) he spent the rest of the evening with his nose in the Bible. Rey thought about what it would be like to spend time in such a grey and strict environment—Plutt’s estate had at the very least been dusted by the one servant he had kept on—and with an uncle instead of a mother and father (she wondered if perhaps it was made more difficult that his parents had not been dead, and if they had been, perhaps he would have accepted his lot there easier). It was easy to see where his knack for flubbing words came from, after seeing the bleak parish, she could not grudge him for his utter lack of social skills.

He learned things about her too, mostly about the details of her childhood that she had never told anyone, but also about happier subjects such as her favorite instrument to listen to and how terrible she played the pianoforte. Upon his prompting, she had played for him after being assured that they were alone in the rooms they were renting in their stay and promptly she butchered her way through the only song she could recall. When she had dared to look up at him standing over her, his eyes had been twinkling with delight and his mouth was repressed in barely contained amusement.

“You said you would not laugh, you promised,” she had crowed up to him, pretending for all the world that she was offended.

He had shaken his head and replied with warmth, “You mistake me. You see, it is on the contrary, I only smile because I enjoy the look on your face as you concentrate.”

Ben had then left her a sound and affectionate kiss to her scalp that left her with nothing to do but blush and stew in the heat suffusing her cheeks.

When they returned to the estate after a six month stay away, some things they found remained the same while many other things had changed. Han had not left by the time they returned and when they did, they found him smoking his pipe in his study. He had smiled his roguish smile (a smile that under certain circumstances his son had in fact inherited) and congratulated them on the ceasing of their nonsense. Ben had frowned then and asked to speak with him alone. Rey had obliged them, and when Ben stumbled out from the study hours later looking equal parts relieved and exhausted, she did not comment on it. From then on, their interactions were calmer, as if they had reached an understanding, and with time, Ben was able to carry conversation with his father over dinners and even smile at Han’s jokes.

Nettie had gotten herself married and settled by the time they returned, and Rey had found a different lady’s maid awaiting her. The new one was quieter and kinder—though sometimes Rey could rouse a giggle when she made an amusing passing comment even if it was at her lord’s expense. Finn had surprised them and disappeared. He had sold his piece of land back to the estate per Han’s stand-in management and moved somewhere else. Rey had been concerned where he’d gone off to until Poe had visited their estate for the first time since. It was the first time Ben and Rey could recall that he was itching to return to his own estate and Rey had tested her theory by asking him to tell Finn she had said hello. In confirmation, Poe had flushed red and stammered his goodbye to the family before throwing himself in his carriage, eager to return.

* * *

The “later” that Rey had promised Ben ended up being almost exactly a year after the night they shared in the London apartment. Their oldest child (Rey nor Ben ever made the mistake of saying “first child”) turned out to be a boy, and upon his entering of the world, Rey had watched a war of emotions span her husband’s expressive features.

“You seem disappointed,” she had tried to keep any sort of emotion from her voice so as not to wound him, though her memory of her fear of his disappointment with their daughter had been fresh after many hours of labor and fluctuating emotions.

“No,” he had shaken his head vehemently, “no, I love him so much that I can scarcely breathe, but,” and he had paused then and twisted his lips as he considered his words, “I do miss having a daughter.”

The universe had seemingly heeded his wishes for likely the first time in his life and following the first boy, they had two more daughter a year between each other and then a boy _and_ a girl at the same time. The oldest boy took the most after his father as a quieter, more academically inclined child. Rey loved to peek into Ben’s study to watch her husband scrawling letters of the estate while their son—the identical copy of his father with dark hair and eyes and large, rounded ears which he preferred to keep hidden under his mop of curls—read a book in the corner. Occasionally, he would give Ben a commentary of what he was reading to see what his thoughts would be. Ben always put his pen down and listened and gave thoughtful responses.

The middle daughter, not the oldest and not the youngest, could often be found huddling underneath her father’s desk while small enough for it. It amused Rey greatly to peek in and see tiny hands gripping the sides of an atlas poking from underneath it, as well as Ben’s silent accommodation for her by scooting his chair further out to give her more room. She took after her mother more, Rey liked to think anyway, and talked Ben’s ear off, listing every single fact she found in the atlas—her favorite book, Rey thought with no shortage of mirth—that she found noteworthy. She’d also ask him a litany of questions that, like with their oldest, he always took with patience and thought.

“Papa, have you been to China?”

“I have.”

“What’s it like?”

“Very beautiful.”

“What about India?”

“It’s very nice too.”

“The Americas?”

“No,” and Rey smiled from her vantage point beyond the doorway to the study, “but your grandfather has been many times.”

“Which part?”

“Hm,” he set his pen down in thought, “Nassau in Barbados, Port Royal in Jamaica, Tortuga in Haiti, the Carolinas as well I believe which would be Charleston perhaps.”

“Was grandpa really a pirate?”

“No,” he had lied, sounding startled, “who told you that?”

“Grandpa.”

A sigh and, “Of course he did.”

The youngest children, the twins, were her little gardeners. They followed Rey around on their stubby legs, careful not to step on the carefully plotted seeds or rows of dirt as she had patiently instructed them. There was always a gleam in the hazel eyes—which were hers but reflected back at her in double—when she gave them a task to do, always excited to help take care of the flowers. The boy liked to lug the water can around which was half his body weight, while the girl liked to get dirt up to her elbows. A mischievous one she was as she seemed to have a knack for finding worms to scare her twin with.

The oldest daughter was essentially Han’s child. She idolized the old, gruff man from the moment she could walk and followed him around until he gave in—pretending to be _very_ put upon when he did—and sat her down to tell her his pirate stories. At first, he was banned from telling said stories by Ben, who heavily disapproved, but somehow the partners in crime managed to skirt around him and she was mysteriously able to tell all of the old man’s tales of adventure by heart. When she was younger, she would take hats and stick feathers in them to feign being a swashbuckler. When she turned thirteen, they found her coughing in Han’s study (or rather: his smoking room) because she had tried to smoke his pipe. Ben had scolded her and fetched her water so she could calm her breathing—Han had never been prouder.

* * *

The first time one of their children got sick, it was the oldest boy and he was six. Old wounds having never quite healed, Ben had not rested once until he’d recovered, and Rey had often caught him cradling his son as the boy shivered and cried in the state of his fever. She had been forced to observe from the hallway as she had been somewhat banned from the room so the sickness would not be allowed to spread to his then only two younger sisters. Fury was as close a word as she could come across when she stood in the hall and could do nothing, yet she begrudgingly understood Ben’s point about the situation and Maz _had_ agreed to the logic. Still it was easier to focus on being spiteful with her husband than to linger on the anxiety she had for her child.

After three days and nights of her hovering outside the door and fretting more than necessary over the girls, Ben stumbled out on exhausted legs and had told her the fever had broken. Though softened by the sheer weight of relief, she’d still been bitter to be left out of caring for her child and refused to speak to him, however, she also refused to sleep in a separate bed from him. Even so, she had also slept with her back turned to him and her arms crossing her chest, conflicted about how to make up her mind on her feelings, and he’d neither given her an apology to accept nor had he told her to stop moping so she could snipe at him. It had been a very long time since she’d been truly angry with him, and she was very bad at it and out of practice.

That night, Ben had had another nightmare—they became an infrequent occurrence over time, so much so that they typically only required a trigger (hers had all-but disappeared entirely), and it had seemed that another one of his children being ill was one such trigger. When he got up and she asked where he was going, he had only responded with the single-mindedness that he always had after a particularly taxing nightmare that he had to go and check on their son to be sure he was really alright. Like the first time they had shared his nightmare together, and unable to be cruel, she kept him in bed and held him until he calmed enough to go back to sleep.

As he’d fallen asleep, he’d whispered, “I’m sorry for keeping you away, I was afraid, and I hadn’t been there the first time.”

“All is forgiven, go to sleep,” and she kissed the knob on his neck.

* * *

Rey’s favorite days were Sundays because that was the day they toted their children—and sometimes Han—along to church to give them a semblance of religion, and even if only in passing, they would get to visit the Leias once a week. After, the family—including Han more often than church did—would take a picnic if the weather permitted on the estate grounds. The wilder children would run wild, and the quieter children would bring a book. Rey and Ben would lounge on blankets, propped up by pillows and watch with amusement.

On such a Sunday, Ben’s head had fallen into her lap. It was a rare moment in which all five of their children were running about and shrieking with laughter as they chased and played games. Han had elected to stay and smoke because his knees were aching that morning. Rey’s fingers lightly scratched Ben’s scalp and wove through his hair, smiles playing at the edges of both of their mouths.

“Did you ever think it could be so wonderful?”

Ben sat up and wrapped an arm around her shoulder and gave his response, “No, every day, I am humbled anew.”

Their youngest son, tired from being chased by his older siblings on his still too short legs stumbled up to them, and without ask or prompt, he crawled in between them to lay down. His freckled face smushed itself against Ben’s leg while his grass-covered boots tucked themselves into Rey’s lap, and the boy closed his eyes. Absently, Ben brushed his brown hair away from his eyes, while the middle daughter watched with jealousy. As if called, she abandoned the game to her other three siblings to slump against her mother’s shoulder, yawned, and tucked her head into Rey’s neck.

A fond smile on her face, Rey pulled the girl into her side further and queried gently, “Are you wanting to go home?”

She shook her head, but Ben took in their tiredness, “Perhaps we ought to.”

“Just a few more minutes,” Rey requested and rested her chin on her daughter’s head as she felt Ben’s hand just slightly squeeze her at her waist.

They smiled as they watched their oldest and youngest daughter engage in a sword fight—with thin branches from the tree line of course—while their oldest son snuck up behind his youngest sister. His gangly, teenage arms vaulted his squealing sister up to his shoulders to give her the advantage of height over her older sister in her play battle.

Ben placed a reverent kiss on Rey’s cheek and murmured, “A few more minutes then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're interested in reading more of my writing, my next WIP will be a Teachers AU, which should be fun :)
> 
> I also have a tumblr to post updates on my fics (and reblog salty tros posts hehe) so if you're interested, you can find me as reylo-garbage-can


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